


I'd Only Cry (If I Could Speak)

by inber



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Blood and Injury, Boyfriends, Boys Kissing, British Sign Language, Bullying, Business, Car Accidents, Childhood Trauma, Come Shot, Come Swallowing, Crushes, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Flirting, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Languages and Linguistics, Loss of Parent(s), M/M, Making Out, Not Canon Compliant, Oral Sex, Other, References to Depression, Sign Language, Sleepy Cuddles, Slow Burn, Social Anxiety, Workplace Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 06:14:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23846545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inber/pseuds/inber
Summary: Jaskier is a new linguistics expert at a top stockbroker firm in London. He's new to the world of business, but eager to make his way in it. There's a janitor on his floor, Geralt, who seems to hold a strange grudge against him -- until Jaskier figures out his secret.This is an AU story about love in the workplace, healing from past trauma, and bridging barriers.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 364
Kudos: 423
Collections: Good Relationship Etiquette (familial included) - or Good BDSM Etiquette - or Good Relationship and BDSM Etiquette





	1. Silence Has A Sound

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crackthesky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crackthesky/gifts).



Jaskier was perpetually early. The receptionist at the doctor’s office, or the dentist, or wherever he happened to be waiting would always say, ‘better to be early than late!’, and Jaskier would offer his best British middle-class laugh as if he agreed. He did not. He was a slave to those fifteen minutes of anxiety that were programmed into his nuclei, a professional drink-getting, bathroom-visiting, magazine-browsing neurotic. Just once, he’d like to be on time. He always felt slightly misplaced, as though he was racing to catch up with his life, only to find it dawdling behind him.

His first day at his new job was no different. He sat in the polished lobby of the stockbroker’s firm, Lenson Corporation – his new workplace – with his laptop bag balanced on his knees, an untouched cup of tea beside him. He was waiting for his boss, a man he’d never met before. His interviews had been conducted over Skype with a series of people from human relations. This was the kind of place that had departments that oversaw other departments. He knew that he’d answer to a Mr. Hyde, but that Mr. Hyde answered to somebody else, who answered to somebody else, and all the way up to... well, Jaskier had no idea. Maybe the Pope.

Jaskier was still getting used to the rush of London. Up north, he’d graduated from The University of Edinburgh with a PhD in translation studies. His thesis on the complexities of modern translation in relation to the world of business finance had been widely regarded by his peers as excellent, and he’d only worked a job in Leeds in the justice system for two months before the headhunting had begun. It had been exciting and flattering, watching global companies court him with offers of benefits and salary, but now he was realising how very large the world of business was, and how very small he felt.

He tried not to fidget. The silk tie around his neck felt too tight. His new suit itched at the ankles.

The clock ticked just past nine, and one of the three sleek elevator doors swished open soundlessly. A short man strode out, nodding at the security as he pressed his pass against the gate that granted him access to the lobby. He was wearing a suit too, but the elbows of his shirt were rolled up, and he had no jacket. The man couldn’t have been over forty-five, but both stress and tobacco had not been kind to his skin.

“Mr. Pankratz!” He approached Jaskier with all the confidence of a man that was rarely wrong. Jaskier rose quickly, slinging his bag over his shoulder, extending a hand.

“Jaskier, Sir. It’s a pleasure.” Was his hand clammy? It didn’t matter, because Mr. Hyde grasped it warmly nonetheless, his shake firm.

“Jaskier, what a name. Russian?” Mr. Hyde didn’t give Jaskier time to respond, “Call me Ed. C’mon, let’s get you settled in the lion’s den.”

Jaskier nodded, and followed the man through security. They called an elevator, and when it arrived, Ed pushed the button for floor 31. Jaskier saw that the numbers went all the way up to 55.

“We’re getting you a pass sorted for security, so I won’t be escorting you every day. More’s the pity, I know I’m a lovely date.” Ed laughed at his own joke, and Jaskier tittered nervously. “Honestly, Jaskier, we’re glad you’re here. Our last lead translator either lied on his CV, or he was shit under pressure. Remind me what you speak again?”

“English,” Jaskier mentally berated himself because _of course_ he spoke English, “Spanish, Italian, Mandarin, Japanese, some French and German – although they’re not my forté. I’m most fluent in Japanese and Mandarin. Oh, and some Latin and a bit of old Greek, but I presume there will be less of a call for those.”

“Impressive, kid.” Ed grinned at him, all crooked coffee-stained teeth, “How do you have room in your brain for all that?” The elevator chimed softly, and they stepped out into a floor divided into cubicles. Jaskier followed Ed through the maze of it, and tried not to think about how lost he’d get later.

“I honestly don’t know, Sir—uh, Ed,” Jaskier said, “Language is just something that has always made sense to me.”

“Well, I’m glad for it, because I barely speak the Queen’s English.” Ed stopped at a small office. “Welcome to your headquarters!”

As Ed gestured, Jaskier stepped inside. It was a small room; there was a solid desk with an ergonomic chair, a computer with two monitors, three telephones, and an empty caddy for stationary. To his right, there was a bookshelf; the top row contained various language dictionaries of differing quality, but the other shelves were bare. There was a window that afforded him a view of the building beside them; in particular, he could see an awning where two pigeons were resting.

“Not the penthouse, kid, but I hope you’ll find everything you need here.” Ed was saying, walking around the desk.

Jaskier had never had his own office before. With reverent delight, he placed his laptop bag down, and removed his suit jacket, placing it on a hook. His smile must have betrayed him, because Ed chuckled.

“Look, we try to be good to our people here at Lenson. I know the old ‘stockbrokers are tough bastards’ stereotype shit, and you’ve probably seen _The Wolf of Wall Street,_ but it isn’t like that. Well, at least not on my floor. Don’t go up beyond level 40, and you’ll be fine.”

“Is that where all the tough bastards are?” Jaskier asked.

“Yep. But you’ll never see ‘em. You might talk to a couple over email or on the phone, but so far as the big-shots are concerned, we’re just tools for their use. So we get along with our own.” Ed shrugged. “I oversee the boring shit here – team interactions and statistics and blah, blah, nothing you need to worry about. But if you’ve got a problem, you come to me, okay? Or you email, or – whatever.”

Jaskier’s shoulders relaxed, just a little. Ed was a peculiar little man, but he seemed nice enough. “Thank you, I appreciate that.”

“Right.” Ed tapped at the keyboard, and flicked a post-it note on the monitor. “Your log-in details. This morning you’ll be doing a lot of HR bullshit. I can only apologise, but it’s gotta be done. Lots of multiple choice clicking – what do you do if you see a live cable in a puddle of water? That stuff.”

“It sounds riveting.” Jaskier snorted, “But nothing I can’t handle, I’m sure.”

“Glad to hear it.” Ed said, “After lunch, you’ll meet your team. You’re overseeing three other translators; Eskel, Lambert and Yennefer.”

“Huh.” Jaskier muttered, “Norse, Germanic and Polish names.”

“Yeah, got a lot of weird names in this department. Ah – no offence, kid. Sometimes I think I should change mine. But then I think about how confused the people at Starbucks would be.”

Jaskier had to laugh. “Oh, don’t get me _started_.”

Ed grinned again, and clapped Jaskier on the back. “Welcome aboard, kid. Remember – live wires in puddles are probably bad. I’ll see you later.”

And just like that, Jaskier was part of a big business. He had a team. He was a supervisor.

He sat at his desk and tried not to have an anxiety attack.

\--------------

Ed was right, the Human Resources workshops were designed for simpletons. He clicked through them as fast as possible, assuring the department that _yes_ he would evacuate if there was a fire, and _no_ he didn’t think that standing on a pile of wobbly boxes to reach a book on the top shelf was a smart idea. He left his office twice; once to locate the bathrooms, and once to fetch a drink from the break room. He found both by himself, which he was proud of.

The break room was well-stocked with a variety of tea, cans of soft drink, and a fancy coffee machine that boasted a library of little pods. Jaskier examined them, and made himself a caramel latté. He was trying to figure out how to set the milk from extra-foam to regular-foam when he heard someone behind him.

He turned to introduce himself, and found his voice stuck to the roof of his mouth. The man that stood there was tall, built with bulky muscle, and had the sort of face that should be carved onto marble busts, not residing pliant on a human being. He had a shock of silvery-white hair that was pulled away from his features in a low pony-tail. Jaskier wondered if the scattering of stubble on his harsh jawline felt as delicious as it looked.

Then he realised he was staring, and his ears burned red. “Excuse me, hello. I’m Jaskier. New here. Coffee?” He gestured to the machine.

The man gave him a level stare, and moved to the rubbish bins. Jaskier noticed his clothing; a navy coverall, slightly dirtied in places. This Greek god of a man was a _janitor_ , and not an underwear model? What a world.

“Oh, pardon.” Jaskier cleared his throat, “I’ll just... pop out of your way.”

The man ignored him. Jaskier caught his name embroidered onto the front of his uniform – not _just_ because he was staring at the man’s pectorals, he tried to reason. Geralt.

“Have uh, have a nice afternoon, Geralt!” Jaskier picked up his coffee, and scampered back to his office, receiving no reply. He closed the door and spent the next five minutes mentally flagellating himself over the one-sided conversation.

“ _Coffee?_ ” He mocked himself, in a stupid voice, and thunked his head against the desk. “Fucking hell. It’s not a wonder I’m single.”

\-------------

The afternoon meeting, at least, was pleasant. His team was made up of strong personalities, but they were competent. Eskel had been with the firm the longest, going on five years. Yennefer had been there for three. Lambert was the latest addition at eighteen months. Between all of them, they had the globe covered, linguistically speaking.

“Right,” Jaskier said, in the small boardroom, “Now we’re all acquainted, let’s do that whole... ‘I’m your supervisor but I’m also your friend, my door is always open’ spiel. It always sounds disingenuous, but I swear I’m very nice.”

“They all say that.” Eskel said, but his tone was light.

“Wait ‘til you deal with some of the assholes upstairs, and their self-important clients.” Yennefer sniffed, “Then we’ll see how nice you are.”

“You do actually speak Japanese, right?” Lambert asked, squinting, “Because our last ‘supervisor’ wouldn’t have known proper pitch-accent if it slapped him upside the face.”

“ _Hai, watashi wa nihongo ga ryūchōdearu koto o yakusoku shimasu_.” Jaskier replied.

“Yeah, alright.” Lambert nodded.

“Can we not do that thing where we all talk in a different language, and not everyone is on board?” Eskel complained, “I’m primarily Germanic, over here.”

“He said he speaks Japanese fluently.” Lambert rolled his eyes, “Read the room, Eskel.”

“It’s alright,” Jaskier said, “I’d love to pick your brain about Afrikaans at some point, Eskel. Not many of my classmates chose it as an elective.”

“You and Lambert will be busiest.” Yennefer noted, examining her nails, “Well, with the major accounts, anyway. I rather like my Slavic corner. I’m needed just enough to keep myself occupied without crying from stress.”

“Sinitic, right, Lambert?” Jaskier asked the man, who nodded. “I speak Mandarin, but my Wu and Cantonese are... a bit lacking.”

“Don’t worry, boss.” Lambert grinned, all ivory gleam, “I’ve got your back.”

“Good to know.” Jaskier said, “But don’t call me 'boss'. I have the distinct pleasure of overseeing workflow and apparently approving vacations and what-not, but I am fully aware that I’m amongst some sharp minds.”

Yennefer flicked her eyes at him. She was a striking woman; her olive skin brought out the jewel tones in her green eyes, and her wavy black hair was worn loose and glossy. Jaskier suspected her clothing was a label he’d know if she told him, but he was a bit too intimidated to ask.

“I like him.” She announced to the group, “Remember how Valdo made us do trust exercises?”

Everyone, including Jaskier, groaned.

“Well, I’ll just strike that off the itinerary—I’m _kidding_.” Jaskier assured Eskel, who gave him a wary look. “What a waste of time. Look, I’ve done my reading. I know you,” He gestured to Lambert, “Have a master’s degree from Cambridge. I read your dissertation, it was well thought-out.”

Lambert, a tall and broad-shouldered man, tried to push the compliment away. He and Eskel were dressed similarly to Jaskier; suit and tie, polished leather boots. “Yeah, well, it got me graduated, I guess.” He murmured.

“I also know that Eskel is your brother.” Jaskier flicked his pale blue gaze to Eskel. They shared a similar build, but Eskel had slightly lighter hair, which he had grown fashionably long enough to groom into a careful bed-head style. “And that Eskel went to university in Sweden.”

“Same surname,” Eskel said, “Easy guess. Did you read my work, too?”

“No,” Jaskier frowned, “I lost the bloody PDF, and I’m not paying twenty quid to download it again.”

Eskel barked out a laugh. “You’re not missing out, don’t worry. I wish I could go back and change the subject of it.”

“And what of me?” Yennefer injected, “Have you bugged my phone and car, too?”

“You, Yennefer, also have a doctorate in linguistics.” Lambert made a sound, and Jaskier glanced at him. “A fact which you don’t often mention, _apparently_.”

Yennefer shrugged. “Doesn’t come up much.”

“Hmm.” Jaskier frowned, “You did so much work on your thesis about the evolution of Slavic folk music, though. _I’d_ boast about it.”

“Well, perhaps I’m not as obnoxious as you, Jaskier.” Yennefer smiled. Jaskier cleared his throat nervously, until she laughed. “Relax, Jesus. I don’t talk about it because I almost fucking failed my degree. Long story. I’ll save it for Friday after-work drinks sometime.”

“Sounds nice.” Jaskier said, trying to recover. Yennefer was the wildcard, he realised. Out of all of them, she was the one who could easily have his job, if she wanted it. It was likely she’d been offered it; most companies liked to promote internally where possible. But maybe she did enjoy the ease of her position, as she’d mentioned.

“So, shall we invent a secret handshake?” Eskel asked. Lambert threw a wadded-up piece of paper at him.

“Nah.” Jaskier said, “Let’s just go out there and do our best not to fuck up.”

“ _There’s_ a group motto,” Yennefer decided, “To not fucking up!”

The four of them raised their water and coffee glasses, and Jaskier felt a little less skittish about everything.

\-------------

By the time five-thirty rolled around, Jaskier had a shiny new identification badge – featuring a standard unflattering photo – and he’d conquered all of HR’s quizzes. They sent him an email congratulating him on his competence and welcoming him to the company. He stretched, rolling his neck, powering his computer down.

There was a knock at his door. “Come in!” He called, and it swung open.

The Greek god. Jaskier’s mouth went dry, but he attempted a casual smile. “Ah, hello again! How can I help?”

The man pointed at his desk. Jaskier looked a little confused.

“You... want to use the computer?” He hedged a guess. The man exhaled sharply, and shook his head. “Do you, um, do you not speak English?”

He was afforded a glare. Jaskier shrank back a little in his chair, utterly confused by the gorgeously intimidating janitor. Eventually, the man grunted, and walked around the desk, grabbing the waste-paper basket.

“Oh.” Jaskier realised, embarrassment flushing over him. “Sorry.”

The man – Geralt – gave him a side-long glance. Jaskier felt wildly uncomfortable. On a whim, he gestured with his hands.

 _"_ Are you deaf?"He signed, in British sign language.

Geralt’s eyes widened, and he dropped the empty bin in shock.

 _"You know sign language?"_ The janitor replied, his movements hasty, almost excited.

"Yes," Jaskier signed, "I know it at an academic level. Not very good with slang though."

Geralt laughed, and the sound made Jaskier jump. He’d been so silent up until now.

 _"I’m not deaf,"_ Geralt signed, _"I am mute. Don’t worry about the slang. It’s nice to speak to someone."_ He paused. _"Well, you know what I mean."_

Jaskier grinned. "I do," he replied, "And I am sorry for asking if you knew English."

Geralt shrugged. _"Most people don’t even bother asking that."_

Jaskier felt a pang for the man. How lonely it must be for him, to be surrounded by people that he could hear perfectly well, but be unable to communicate without the aid of pen and paper. Now he saw a notebook tucked into the front pocket of Geralt’s uniform, and he understood why it was there.

"Is your uniform correct?" Jaskier signed, "Is Geralt your name?"

The man nodded. _"'Ger’ is easier to sign, though,"_ he replied.

"My name is Jaskier, but I guess ‘Jask’ is easier, too." Jaskier didn’t mind the nickname.

 _"I remember, from the break room."_ Geralt signed, _"Caramel coffee is gross."_

Jaskier laughed. "I needed the sugar rush!"

 _"Still, gross."_ Geralt was smiling.

"Well, I have to get going," Jaskier replied, "But it was nice to meet you, Ger."

Geralt nodded sincerely. _"You too, Jask."_

At the door, Jaskier grabbed his coat, and then hesitated. "I’m not sure when your shifts are, but if you ever need anything, please come by, okay?" He blushed as he signed. He wanted to invite the man to lunch, or for a pint, but that felt too forward somehow.

Geralt blinked. _"Sure,"_ he replied. The word was signed hesitantly.

Again, that small tug. Jaskier hoped he had friends outside of work who he could communicate with. Just the simple offer of Jaskier’s availability had the man looking almost flustered. He smiled again, and left.

On the tube, squished into a peak-hour carriage, he tried to think about what laid ahead for him in the coming week, but his mind kept wandering to a pair of hazel eyes, rimmed with gold.


	2. Five Seconds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is very fluffy, and features a fair bit of Yen and Jaskier interaction. Geralt is only here briefly. If you're a fan of banter and friendships, this is for you.
> 
> I have no idea where this story is going, honestly. Send help.

Jaskier wasn’t much of a betting man, but that Friday, he was taking a risk. It had been an exhausting first week, learning new systems and software and having his first run-ins with the big players in the firm (via email, thankfully). Friday morning would be a designated meeting time, an hour or so for his team to catch one another up, or vent, or discuss major issues.

Yennefer and Eskel were busiest in the mornings with the New York market, and Lambert and Jaskier had the majority of calls after lunch with the Shanghai and Japanese exchanges. Jaskier was expected to oversee everything, but thus far all he’d had to worry about was a one-off client that had been deferred to Eskel. After some confusion whilst Eskel switched between Dutch and German, Jaskier had come on the line and found that the client was working in Holland, but he originated from Kyoto. The Germanic twang that his Japanese accent had taken on was rather endearing.

Aside from that, he wondered why there was even a need for him to supervise. The team was more than competent. So, he figured they deserved a new Friday tradition; a way for him to thank them for the week’s work.

“Okay!” He set the tray down, as well as a bag. “I’ve observed – Yes, Yen, I know you would say ‘creeped’,” The woman grinned, “This week, and I’ve picked up beverages at a guess. Eskel – earl grey tea, no milk. Yennefer – long black with whipped cream. Lambert – I have yet to see you hit the caffeine, so I went with cinnamon hot chocolate.” Picking the cups out, he grinned. “Two things: was I on the mark, and how did they spell your name on the cup?”

Yennefer reached for the tall coffee, her manicured fingernails curling around it. She snorted as she read the side. “J-e-n-i-f-e-r.” She read the letters out, “How basic. But well done, you,” The beverage was lifted in salute, “You won’t ever catch me asking for non-fat bullshit. Whipped cream is too good.”

“I-s-s-k-i-l-l.” Eskel squinted, and smiled. “Eh, they tried. And you cheated, Jaskier. You’ve seen my stash on my desk.” He was a tea fiend through and through. Jaskier held up his hands in surrender.

“L-a-m-b-e-r-t.” Lambert read, and then frowned. “Aw. Well, excuse the fuck out of me for not having a soft consonant in my name. And yeah, hot chocolate is good. Dunno about cinnamon.” He took a sip, and then tilted his head. “Actually, never mind. Good.”

Jaskier smiled proudly, and picked up his own drink, a double-shot cappuccino. “Y-a-s-k-i-e-h, in case any of you are wondering. Not the worst I’ve had.”

“Nor I.” Yen agreed, adding a sugar to her drink. “Although I usually have the sense to say ‘Yen’.”

Jaskier laughed. “It was an experiment.” And then he opened the paper bag; there were fresh pastries inside, and eager hands dove for them. “I wanted to thank you for making this week easy on me. I was hoping we could catch up Friday mornings like this from now, as I explained in the email I sent. Everyone on board?”

“Yesh.” Lambert said, mouth full of custard danish.

Yennefer nodded, delicately picking the layers off a cinnamon scroll, working her way to the middle.

“Thanks for handling that Holland situation, Jask’.” Eskel was polite enough not to speak until he’d swallowed the mouthful of his cheese scone, “I couldn’t place his accent for the life of me.”

“Eh, that’s why I’m here.” Jaskier said, taking a mouthful of his coffee. “Right. Catch me up on your workloads. Yen?”

The hour passed quickly, switching between serious note-taking and light-hearted banter. By the time nine-thirty was ticking closer, Jaskier felt sorry to have to end the meeting. He was comforted that nobody felt as though they were struggling, and they all had next week loosely mapped out. Eskel and Lambert filtered out of the board room, talking about some soccer nonsense. Yen was writing down the last of her notes.

Jaskier took the opportunity to bridge a subject, as casually as he possibly could. “The, uh, janitor that works this floor. Geralt. Do you know much about him?”

“Tall, handsome, mute?” Yen asked, not looking up from her work, “Afraid not. He keeps to himself a lot. I’ve seen some shitty behaviour from the interns and secretaries towards him, and I always offer to file a report on his behalf, but he asks me not to.” She glanced up. “In his notebook, I mean. Why do you ask?”

Jaskier had run into Geralt on two further occasions; one was in passing, as he left the men’s room. Unfortunately he had a scheduled call, and so their signing was brief, but Geralt seemed pleased to see him. The other time had been when he was leaving the office again, the day before. There was more room on his end for casual conversation, but Geralt obviously had work to do, and although Jaskier had wanted to ask him out for a pint, he’d chickened out.

“I was just... curious.” _Don’t fidget,_ Jaskier told himself. “Do you know why he can’t speak?”

Yen’s smile was slow. “Oooh, the boss has the hots for _Geeeeralt_.” She sing-songed.

Jaskier immediately flushed, and cursed his traitorous reaction. “I-I do n—” He tried to object, but Yen raised one sharp eyebrow and leaned back in her chair, daring him to defy her. Jaskier crumpled onto the table. “Oh God, Yen, he’s so cute, it’s actually killing me. We’ve chatted a bit, but I’ve no idea if he... well. _Bats for my team_.”

Yennefer giggled. “Wish I could help you there.” She paused, and tapped her chin. “Actually, I could help you there. He usually empties my trash around three-ish. Maybe I could just accidentally have a button undone. See how he responds.”

“I feel like that’s some kind of sexual harassment violation, and I should not encourage it.” Jaskier said, and whilst that was true, he was also terrified that the gorgeous giant would fall for Yen’s charms. And then not only would Geralt be hurt because it was just a test, Jaskier would have his fantasy rudely pulled out from underneath him. No, he’d rather hold onto it.

“Tsk.” Yen closed her folder, “I mean you’re right, but tsk anyway.” She rose, and then squeezed Jaskier’s shoulder. “Courage, boss. All you need is like... five seconds of crazy courage. Write it out, have it ready, ask him for a beer. Simple.”

“He knows sign language. That’s how we talk.” Jaskier lifted his head. “You’re right though. A beer could be... just friendly, right?”

“Right!” Yen enthused, “There you go.”

“One... one more thing.” If today was going to be the day of courage, Jaskier figured he’d make the most of it. “You’re always so well... put-together, Yen. I got my suits from Marks and Sparks and—”

“And they’re too short in the leg, too loose in the waist.” She finished, lifting her chin.

“Well, ouch, just kick a man whilst he’s down.” Jaskier said.

“Are you asking me where you should shop, or are we going to be absolutely stereotypical and go on a fashion date, boss?” Yennefer was smiling.

“Quit calling me that. Um, but... yes please? I’m all for stereotypes if it means I’ll stop looking like a kid in his father’s wardrobe.”

“Oh, boss,” Yen leaned into the word, “I got you. You just have to promise me one thing.”

Jaskier felt a little like he might be signing his soul away, but he squinted. “Yes?”

“If I tell you to try something on, you try it on. If I say no, it doesn’t get bought. If we do this, we’re in my domain. I’ll give you stylish, Jaskier, but you’ll need to trust me.” She leaned in, close enough that Jaskier could smell the oriental bloom of her perfume. “Deal?”

Jaskier nodded. “Deal. I can play at Barbie, no problem.”

“After work? Any plans?”

He thought about the microwave dinner waiting for him in his small flat, and the bath. “Nothing pressing.”

“Excellent, it’s a date.” Yennefer looked like she had a mission, and it made Jaskier terrified and excited at the same time. “Remember – five seconds. Courage, boss.” With a wink, she exited the boardroom.

“Why the fuck isn’t she running this company?” Jaskier muttered to himself, as he cleaned up after their meeting. A bloom of hope burst in his chest. Perhaps he was on his way to making his first official London friend.

\--------------

Jaskier was on the phone when Geralt came into his office to water the plants he’d brought in. His heart tugged at the gesture, because he didn’t think it was part of the man’s job description. He signed, _Hello!,_ and kept talking.

“Mr. Chen says that he’s pleased with the account’s standings, but he would like to know if you have any predictions after today’s Tesla press conference.” Jaskier said, making notes as he went.

“Tell Mr. Chen that I’m holding his stock, after the announcement of manufacturing numbers. The figure is much higher than anticipated. Best to sit on it.” The broker – a Mr. Redcliffe – ordered.

Jaskier translated with ease, although his eyes kept flicking to Geralt, who was fiddling with one of the leaves on the fern he’d bought. _God, please let these two shut up about Tesla_ , he thought. _I just want to talk to the Greek god._

“Mr. Chen agrees with you, and thanks for you your time. He’ll be checking in next week.” Jaskier told Redcliffe, who made a noise.

“Tell him I’m grateful for his account, and so on – you know the drill, Jaskier. Thanks, mate.” Mr. Redcliffe’s line went dead. Jaskier rolled his eyes, and switched to Mandarin, thanking Mr. Chen for his business, and telling him he would look forward to speaking again soon. He made a few notes on the account, and hung up the phone.

 _"That’s amazing."_ Geralt signed, _"How do you change from one language to another like that?"_

Jaskier shrugged. "I am not really sure," he replied, "I grew up with languages. I just understand them. Everyone has a strength."

Geralt looked a little uncomfortable, and Jaskier couldn’t place why. He didn’t want the man to leave, so he kept signing.

"Thank you for watering the plants. I bought them this week."

 _"The fern should be on the other side of the room,"_ Geralt replied, _"It needs indirect sunlight."_

"Oh, thank you," Jaskier signed. "I honestly kill every plant I buy. I am not sure why I bought more, only to doom them."

Geralt laughed. Jaskier liked it when he did that; the sound made him prick all over with warmth.

 _"I’ll help you."_ Geralt signed, _"Together we’ll make these two live."_

"Deal." Jaskier replied. He thought about Yen’s words from that morning. Five seconds. Geralt was turning to leave. Jaskier cleared his throat.

"Listen, I’m not sure if you are interested in friends out of the office," his signing was hasty, "But I’d like to get a beer sometime. If you would like that, too."

Geralt stood in the doorway and stared. Jaskier could feel the heat in his ears, and he prayed his face was not similarly pink. The absence of a reply sent him skittish.

"Or a coffee? Or, perhaps you’re busy. I’m sorry."

 _"No,"_ Geralt signed, _"I’m not busy. I’d like to get a beer. When?"_

Relief flooded Jaskier’s body. He thought about his schedule; tonight was promised to Yen, but his weekend was relatively relaxed. He intended to join the local gym and library, do some grocery shopping, but nothing pressing.

"Saturday?" He asked, "Any time after lunch, if you are free. I like to sleep in."

 _"Lazy-bones."_ Geralt grinned, _"Five o’clock? I know a good place."_

Jaskier nodded, perhaps too enthusiastically. He reached for a post-it, and scribbled his number down. Trying to look confident, nonchalant, he offered it up. Geralt took it, pulled out his phone, and pressed some buttons.

Jaskier’s own phone buzzed on the desk. He had Geralt’s number. He had the Greek god’s number. Yen was right.

 _"Just checking it wasn’t a fake."_ Geralt signed, with a lopsided smile.

"That would be stupid of me, considering you know where I work." Jaskier replied, returning the grin.

_"See you tomorrow, then, Jask’."_

Jaskier swallowed the squeak that wanted to burst out of his lungs. "Tomorrow, Ger’. Have a good afternoon."

\--------------

“I did it!” Jaskier exploded into Yennefer’s office at precisely five-thirty. Thankfully, she wasn’t on a call, but she did look appropriately startled.

“Did what? Lord, haven’t you heard of knocking?” She powered her computer down, put her phones on divert.

“Five seconds. I asked him, and he said yes, and now we’re getting beer tomorrow!” Jaskier tried not to sound like a schoolboy with a crush, and failed.

Yen smirked. “Good for you, boss. I told you. The ol’ five seconds never fails. Y’know, except when it does... but that’s what wine is for. Suppressing memories.”

“Oh, I am so buying you wine, after this. Not to suppress anything. But you gave me the courage. What do you think about a spring wedding?”

“I think you should go on the date and see if he thinks it’s a _mates getting beer_ kind of situation, or a _date_ date.” Yen reminded him, spoiling his theatrics. 

“Oh, boo. You’re right.” Jaskier thought over his wardrobe, and his chest squeezed. “What does one wear to a... ‘I don’t know if this is a mates date or a date date, date?’” He felt a wave of anxiety lick him. “I want to look good. Not like a language dork. Oh God, Yen, I’m _such_ a dork. Help.”

She stood, and pulled her coat on, shouldering her purse. And then she took his arm. “I said we were in my domain this evening, did I not? Come on. I’ll get you sorted.”

Jaskier let her lead him out of the building, and tried to tame the knot of emotions in his belly that warred for attention. Before he survived the date, he had to survive Yen’s retail tutorial. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but she’d managed to make it sound insidious enough that he could only pray that her intentions were good.

\------------

“Tom Ford?” Jaskier stood outside the sleek storefront, feeling rather like a dirt-smear on a pristine pane of glass. “Yen, I don’t know...”

“Jaskier,” Her tone turned from conversational to bossy in an instant, “We agreed. I say, you do. Those were the terms.”

He made a low whine. “Yeah, we did.”

“Listen.” Yen’s hand rubbed the top of his back, “Designer stores have designer price-tags, true, but women get the worst of it. That’s capitalism for you. But the crux of it is this: you buy decent, staple pieces that are well-made, and you’re set for years and years. I guarantee that off-the-rack suit you’re wearing will disintegrate by the end of the year. Fashion is about being smart, as well as looking good.”

“You should be prime minister.” Jaskier said, not for the first time.

“Don’t I know it, darling. Come on. You’re with me, nobody will be looking at you.” She gave him a cheeky wink, and he knew she didn’t quite believe the words.

But they were true. Yennefer strode through the store with command as Jaskier tottered after her, and shoppers and assistants alike turned their heads. Today she was wearing a high-waisted power suit – Chanel, she’d told Jaskier – that was accented by a thin gold belt, hoop earrings, and point-toe Louboutins. Jaskier had mispronounced the name of the shoe, but Yen gave him praise for at least being aware of the iconic red-soled footwear.

Yen flicked through a rack of pants, humming, pulling a pair out to inspect it every now and then. Jaskier noticed that a couple of assistants were murmuring amongst themselves – possibly because they smelled a commission, or possibly because they were intimidated – but eventually a young woman came over.

“Good afternoon ma’am, sir,” She smiled her best, ‘ _I’m happy to see you but also I can’t wait until we close because my feet hurt’_ smile, and Jaskier felt sorry for her. “Can I help you?”

“No, love,” Yen purred, not taking her eyes from the garments, “I’m shopping for my friend here. Business attire and something casual.” She glanced over, emerald eyes flashing. “He has a date tomorrow.”

“Ooh!” The assistant tittered, “Do tell.”

Jaskier patted the leather chaise he was sitting upon, inviting her to perch. If a customer said so, she’d have to take a load off, right? “I’ll tell you the tale, but you must gift me with your company,” He squinted at her nametag, “Alice, because I fear my friend will take her time in rifling through your collections.”

Yennefer hummed in the affirmative, and Alice did as she was told. Jaskier could see the small relief in her eyes, and he wondered why retail staff weren’t allowed chairs like any other human being. _Ridiculous_ , he thought.

“Now then! Our tale starts long, long ago... Monday, to be precise.”

\-------------

By the time Jaskier was done exaggerating, Alice was endeared and giggly, and Yennefer had a small rack of items for him to try. He looked upon them and sighed.

“I’ve grouped them into whole outfits. If anything doesn’t fit quite right, the people here will have it tailored. And remember, you _promised_ you’d try everything.” Yen warned him with her eyes, as he narrowed his gaze at a blue velvet blazer.

“Fine! Yes, I did promise. Excuse me, Alice.” He stood, and so did the assistant, wheeling the rack towards the changing rooms. They were roomy and modern, much like the rest of the store.

“Yennefer, isn’t it?” Alice asked, “Champagne whilst we approve?”

“Delightful, yes.” Yen hummed.

Jaskier made a noise of protest. “Where’s my champagne?”

“I’d have offered, but it was hard to get a word in.” Alice told him truthfully, and Yennefer giggled.

“Nobody bullies me at Marks and Spencer’s.” Jaskier groused, as he opened the changing curtain and took in the first outfit.

“Nobody does anything at Marks and Spencer’s except look depressed.” Yen said.

“Yennefer, are these cuff buttons made out of—”

“Try it on.” Yen barked, and Jaskier knew better than to ask more questions. As the girls sipped the bubbly and chatted, Jaskier wrestled with the clothes. Once he had the full outfit on, he had to admit that... okay, perhaps his co-worker knew what she was doing. He would not have chosen the cobalt blue suit for himself, but it matched his complexion well, and somehow brought out his eyes. Small detail didn’t go unappreciated; the jacket fit well across the shoulders and buttoned low, making the crisp, off-white shirt beneath it a feature rather than an afterthought. There was no tie, and it was designed for the top shirt button to remain undone. The pants were a perfect length. The black belt was accented in gold. He glared at his boring leather shoes, and hoped Yen would be amenable to finding something a little more interesting.

“Okay,” He called, and stepped out shyly, “You can judge me now.”

Both women looked at him over their champagne glasses. Yen’s eyebrows slowly raised. Jaskier was not sure what that meant, and he fussed with the cuffs.

“Ni- _ice_.” Alice broke the silence, holding up her hand. Yen accepted the high-five smugly.

“Agreed. Very nice. I hardly think it even needs alteration – what say you, Alice?”

“Mmm, nope.” She said, motioning for Jaskier to spin. He did so with a flourish. “No, fits great. That’s a yes! Next!”

“Yen,” Jaskier said, “My shoes... they’re kind of... well, letting the look down. Aren’t they? Are they?”

“Oh, boss,” Yen grinned, “Are you trying to seduce me? I was scared of getting into shoes, but if you’re game... God, I hope you’ve got room on your credit cards for this.”

Alice handed him a glass of bubbly, and he sipped it. “A wise and beautiful woman told me that fashion was worth investing in. Or some other such nonsense. I wasn’t paying much attention.”

Yen picked up a hanger and tossed it at him, and he skillfully dodged, grinning. “Alright, you get one sip per outfit. Try on the others.” And just like that, Yen robbed him of his beverage.

“Cruel mistresses!” Jaskier bemoaned, “I am tormented.” But he picked up the next items, and willingly went to change.

By the time they were finished with Tom Ford, Jaskier had a new suit that needed no alteration, one deep wine velvet jacket that required a little tuck in at the waist – he’d pick it up later – and two dress shirts in cream and charcoal. He toted the bags proudly, and Yen smiled at him.

“Are you ready for Armani?” She asked, and Jaskier took a deep breath.

“Bring it, Yen.”

\------------

Jaskier’s feet were fucking sore and his credit card was screaming at him, but he was finally sat at a wine bar with Yennefer, surrounded by a small sea of rich nonsense. He had new suits, new jeans, new boots and shoes. He had casual shirts, jumpers, ties. He even had a pair of sunglasses. And that didn’t include the things he’d need to pick up after alteration. Most of the bonus incentive the company had bribed him over with was spent, but Jaskier felt that for the first time in his life, maybe he’d actually look suave and put-together.

The date outfit sat innocently in one of the bags. Yennefer had decided upon a light grey sweater with a cable-knit, beneath which Jaskier would wear a plain black tee’. The dark wash jeans she’d chosen were skinny and had a hole in one knee (they’d had a small argument, because Jaskier insisted he could ruin his own clothing, why would be buy pre-ruined clothing, and Yen had reminded him of his promise) and they had a brown leather belt to go with them. He had black converse at home, and Yen had decided they’d be adequate. Lastly, she’d chosen a leather necklace with a simple silver disc pendant.

It was handsome, but casual. Classy, but not too dressy. Geralt didn’t need to know how much effort and swearing had gone into the look.

After he’d bought them both dinner and a nice bottle of red, Jaskier sighed. “Why aren’t you doing my job, Yen? You’re qualified, you’re smart. Surely they offered it to you?”

“They did, yes.” She said, spearing the last of her salmon on her fork, “But it’s a demanding position. I have a daughter, Cirilla, and I don’t like the idea of having to stay late and worry about rosters and what-not. I’m paid well, and I am there for her.”

“Fuck,” Jaskier winced, “Am I keeping you? I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” Yen waved at him and took a sip of wine, “Every other weekend, she stays with her father. The ex. Decent man, but it just didn’t work out. This is my free weekend. Actually, I rarely go out, so this is rather nice.”

Jaskier grinned. “Well, I was going to go home to my very sad wardrobe and a microwave meal, so I’m pleased this turned out, too. You went through a lot of trouble for me today, Yen. Thank you.”

“It was nothing.” She smiled, “It’s only been a week, but you feel like an old soul, y’know? Like maybe in a past life, we were mates. Valdo crowded me from the start. Tried to ‘manage my workflow’. I like that you’ve given me space and trust.”

“It’s definitely not because I’m mildly underqualified to be managing other people,” Jaskier deadpanned, “Definitely the respect thing.”

She kicked him under the table. “Accept a compliment, boss.”

Jaskier sighed. “Fine, but only if you quit calling me ‘boss’.”

“Not gonna happen.” Yen drained the wine. “It suits you.”

Jaskier sat back, and shook his head at her. “I don’t believe in past lives, but I knew you were one of the good ones when I met you. If I was interested in your, er, equipment, I imagine I’d have courted you.”

“ _Equipment?_ ” Yen laughed, “Jaskier, say pussy.”

His ears went pink. “Shh, people are looking.”

“Saaay it.” Her grin grew wider.

“Yen, oh my _God_ ,” Jaskier slouched in his chair, “Stop.”

She sighed. “If you can’t say ‘pussy’, then the courting would never have worked.”

“Alright!” Jaskier flustered, “ _Pussy!_ ”

Their waiter was stood beside him. Jaskier felt the presence rather than saw him, and he tried his best to breathe through the mortification as the man politely placed the bill down and scuttled away. Yennefer absolutely cackled.

As Jaskier shoved his card into the small leather folder and signed the slip, he glared at her, even as his mouth tried to resist the twitch of a smile. “Evil. Just, just evil.”

“All good future prime ministers are, boss.” Yennefer said, and well, she had him there.


	3. Dates and Dorks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier meets Geralt for their date. Or is it a date? He'll have to figure that one out as he goes.

He was early to the pub, even though Jaskier had purposefully taken his time getting dressed in his little flat, obsessing over his reflection, trying the outfit with or without the necklace. As he scowled at the couture hole in his jeans, he tried to remember Yen’s words – something about aesthetics – and ended up donning the accessory. She’d approved of the outfit, and it was dangerous to stray from that, he figured. Yennefer was the expert.

Before he left, he gave himself a final once-over. The grey of the chunky-knit sweater did bring out the vivid blue of his eyes, he had to admit. It was cosy. The converse were familiar, and as much as he felt vaguely incensed by the jeans, he liked the way they fit.

“Delightful arse, Jask’,” He said to his reflection, “Just _smashing_. Work it.”

Leaving his window open to air out his small flat had been a mistake, because a pedestrian paused a little too long on the sidewalk, and Jaskier flushed as he realised he’d been overheard. Perhaps that was why he’d shut and locked up then, leaving for the pub at a brisk walk. It was only two tube stations away from him, and there he stood in front of _The Hen and Hound,_ him and his ever-present fifteen minutes.

He used some of it to go to the washroom and check that he still looked presentable. Then he wandered between the inside of the small establishment and the outside, trying to decide upon the best location. It wasn’t too chilly, and the pub had a sweet garden that created a hedge between it and neighbouring establishments. The rush of dinner patrons had yet to appear, and he chose a table by a rosemary bush in the setting sunshine.

 _-Hey! I’m out the back at one of the tables. Bit early, sorry. Want me to order for you?_ Jaskier wrote out a text to Geralt, and then added his name at the end. Just as he hit send, he heard heavy footfalls, and looked up.

Good fucking lord. If Jaskier had considered Geralt a Greek god when he was in work coveralls, he wasn’t sure how to categorise him now. A pair of faded black Levis moulded to his muscular thighs, tucked into a pair of motorcycle boots with numerous buckles. He wore a long-sleeved tee’ that looked like it might explode from his biceps if he flexed hard enough, navy and ribbed. A leather jacket was slung over one arm, and his silvery hair was loose, pulled back from his features with a band. Geralt picked his phone out of his pocket as it buzzed, read the message, and grinned at Jaskier.

 _"Sure,"_ he signed, _"Pint of Aspall cider. They have it on tap."_

Jaskier was kind of glad he didn’t need to speak, because his throat was very dry. "Geralt!" He replied, "Good to see you. I’ll get the drinks and then,"

Fuck. Jaskier’s mind blanked as he forgot the sign for ‘return’. His hands froze, and he tried to think of a replacement – ‘come back’ or ‘be back’, but his brain was flatlining. Thankfully, Geralt saved him.

 _"Bring them back to the table, I presume?"_ He signed, a gentle way about his gestures.

"Yes!" Jaskier responded, "Thank you. Back in a bit."

Geralt nodded, as Jaskier scampered inside. Christ, he was already blowing it, and it hadn’t been five minutes. As he waited for a bartender, he glared at his traitor hands.

 _“Just relax and try to enjoy yourself.”_ He heard Yen’s voice in the back of his mind, and he released a shaky breath.

“Pint of Aspall and a glass of Chardonnay, mate.” He ordered, when the tender gestured to him. “Can I open a tab?”

“Sure,” The man set the pint glass down, “Is house white alright?”

“I’m not fussy, as long as it isn’t too sweet.” Jaskier said. The bartender nodded, and withdrew a bottle from the fridge. He poured a generous amount into a glass.

“2018 Spanish drop. Far cry from a Riesling, I promise.” The man grinned, and Jaskier smiled back. He handed over his credit card for the tab, picked up the two beverages, and nodded his thanks. As he walked back to the table, he concentrated on not spilling the cider. It was a small endeavour to be proud of, but both drinks survived the journey, and he plopped down gracelessly into the seat opposite Geralt.

 _"Thanks,"_ Geralt signed. _"How much?"_

Jaskier shook his head. "Nah, I asked you here," he replied, "I’ve a tab open."

Geralt frowned. _"I can pay my way, Jask."_

"I know," Jaskier signed. "You can pick up the tab next time."

It was presumptuous of him to presume there would be a next time, but at least it projected confidence, and it placated Geralt into accepting. The larger man eyeballed him, but relented with a nod. Then he raised his glass and took a healthy sip.

Jaskier did the same, and was pleased to find that the house white was not cheap and shitty. Geralt had been right; this was a decent place. It was as good a conversation starter as any.

"Ordered the house white," Jaskier gestured, "And it’s not bad. Good pub."

Geralt smiled. _"I come here every now and then, and I always enjoy it,"_ he replied.

"Do you ride?" Jaskier asked. "I like your boots."

 _"No,"_ Geralt shook his head, _"I just hate having wet jean cuffs, and there are always bloody puddles. I live nearby."_

It wasn’t the best neighbourhood, but Jaskier suspected Geralt could hold his own in a fight. "I’m not too far," he signed, "Two tube stops over."

Geralt drank more of the cider, nodding. Jaskier fiddled with the stem of his wine glass, and sipped at the golden liquid absently. This felt friendly, albeit a bit stilted. Was it just friendly?

"So," Jaskier signed,

 _"You know,"_ Geralt began at the same time.

They chuckled nervously, and Jaskier gestured for Geralt to go first.

 _"You can speak, you know,"_ Geralt continued. _"I don’t mind."_

"Would you prefer that I did?" Jaskier signed, and then, “I can do both at the same time.” He offered.

 _"Show off."_ Geralt accused him, and Jaskier grinned. Then he paused. _"I like it when you speak,"_ He admitted, _"It feels more normal."_

“Then I’ll speak.” Jaskier said, still moving his hands.

 _"You don’t have to do both,"_ Geralt signed, _"I’m not deaf."_

Jaskier bit his lower lip. “I know you aren’t. Sorry. When I took BSL as a unit in university, I got used to signing whilst speaking.” And then he remembered the incident before, and felt his ears burn hot. “I, uh, could have just _said_ the word ‘return’ out loud instead of floundering like an idiot, couldn’t I?”

Geralt’s chuckle was rough. _"Yeah,"_ he replied, _"But then I wouldn’t have gotten to watch you flounder like an idiot."_

“Oh, rude.” Jaskier stuck his tongue out childishly, but he was grinning along with the larger man. “Don’t you worry, Geralt, I make an arse out of myself regularly. You shan’t want for that.”

 _"Good to know."_ Geralt signed, sinking more of the pint. _"How was your sleep-in?"_

For some reason, Jaskier felt touched that he remembered. “Really nice, actually. First week on the job was hectic, but fulfilling. I have a good team. I’m, uh, a fairly recent transplant to London. Still doing all the boring things that come with moving.”

 _"Where did you move from?"_ Geralt asked.

“Up north. Leeds. I was working in the justice system before I got the offer of this job, and it was too good to pass up.” Jaskier drained his wine. “Better use of my degrees.”

Geralt nodded, but didn’t sign anything. Jaskier felt uncertain suddenly, as if he’d been rubbing his success in the larger man’s face. He could speak multiple languages; he had a high-paying job; he had been headhunted from across the country. Geralt was mute, and worked as a janitor. Just as he went to stumble out some kind of apology, Geralt signed hesitantly.

_"Why don’t you ask me why I don’t speak?"_

Jaskier blinked at the question. He almost signed a reply, thrown off, but he caught himself in time. “Because it’s not my business. If you wish to tell me why, I’ll gladly be an audience, but if you don’t, that’s your choice.”

It was Geralt’s turn to look frazzled. He frowned, and drank the dregs of his cider. _"Aren’t you curious, though? Everyone else always is."_

“I’m curious about a lot of things in the world, Geralt, but that doesn’t mean I’ve earned answers to the curiosities. Anyone who asks you something so personal is... well, frankly, rude. In my opinion.” Jaskier’s voice was low, but it rang with honesty.

Geralt blinked, motionless. And then he pointed at the glasses. _"I’m getting us another round. Same?"_

“Please.” Jaskier said, and watched the larger man as he walked into the pub. God, it was a nice view. He had a second to check his phone in the absence of company, and he saw a text from Yennefer.

 _-Have you kissed yet?_ It read.

 _-Yen! We’re just having a few drinks. I don’t know what this is, yet._ Jaskier replied.

_-Boring. Text me when you figure it out, boss. X_

Jaskier rolled his eyes at the phone, and tucked it away. He let his mind wander. What kind of a kisser was Geralt? Rough, or gentle? He imagined the scrape of that ever-present stubble against his chin, and absently pressed a hand to his mouth.

His reverie was dashed by a glass placed down before him, and he actually jumped. Geralt looked at him suspiciously.

 _"What did I interrupt?"_ He asked.

Jaskier tried not to blush, taking a large mouthful of wine. “Oh, just wondering what to do with my Sunday. Aside from grocery shopping. I forgot to tell you, Geralt – I’m ridiculously exciting.”

Geralt sat, and smiled. _"I think you’re fun,"_ he signed. The blush did creep across Jaskier’s nose, then.

“Yes, I suppose. I am thinking of going to the library, too. Really going wild, you know?”

 _"Bloody animal, you are."_ Geralt shook his head as if disapproving. _"Your kind are the reason society is in such shambles."_

“Don’t I know it.” Jaskier agreed. “What about you? Big Sunday plans?” He almost asked if he intended to spend the day with a girlfriend or boyfriend, but he chickened out at the last moment.

 _"Helping my Dad,"_ Geralt signed. _"I live with him, and he’s getting older. Gotta finish some work around the flat before the work week starts."_

“Oh,” Jaskier smiled, “That’s really decent of you, looking after your Dad.”

 _"More like he looks after me, really,"_ Geralt replied. _"He’s one of the few I can speak to."_

“I suppose there are few people that know BSL.” Jaskier hummed.

 _"No,"_ Geralt gestured, _"I mean speak to. Talk. I have selective mutism, Jask. It means that when I’m away from places of comfort, I can’t find my voice. I don’t exactly know why, and none of the doctors I’ve seen have helped much. I can talk in front of my Dad, and my sister."_

Jaskier nodded. “I must admit, I did google mutism, but I am no doctor.” He paused. “Well, I mean I am, but not... a body doctor.”

 _"Doctor Jask?"_ Geralt signed, _"I sense a new nickname."_

“Nooo,” Jaskier groaned, “I already feel like a big enough dork. You wear cool shoes and have cool hair, and I am a nerd that can’t keep a plant alive.”

Geralt grinned. _"You think my hair is cool?"_ He asked.

Oh boy. Jaskier took another gulp of wine, and remembered they’d yet to order dinner. “C’mon, it’s really cool. You must know that.” He tried to play nonchalant.

 _"I don’t think you’re a dork,"_ Geralt responded. _"I think you’re really smart."_

“'Really smart' is just code for big dork, Geralt.” Jaskier said.

 _"You pronounced my name right. And you bothered to communicate with me. Like, properly. The most anyone has ever done at work is write questions on paper, and they’re usually, ‘can you fix the photocopier’, or similar."_ Geralt lowered his eyes, and Jaskier felt his heart ache.

“Okay, so maybe I’m a nice big dork.” He nudged Geralt’s foot under the table with his own. “Don’t let the people at work get to you. None of them have cool hair.”

Geralt snorted, and lifted his gaze. It met with Jaskier’s, the unusual ring of gold that rimmed his irises captivating him. For a moment, it did not feel as though they were having friendly drinks. Jaskier’s hand flinched forward, just a little.

 _"Well, I should be going."_ Geralt signed, _"I need to be home to make dinner for Dad."_ He drank the remainder of the cider in his glass in quick gulps, and Jaskier tried not to stare at the column of his throat.

“Right! Er, of course.” Damn it, he’d wanted more time. Why did he have to sleep in? “Thank you for meeting me, and for trusting me with some of your story. I, uh, I hope you know that it stays with me? That it’s not office gossip. Not to me.”

Geralt softened, then, and nodded. _"I appreciate that,"_ he signed.

“ _Five seconds_.” Yennefer’s voice haunted his brain again, and he scraped together his courage.

“Could I—I mean. I asked you here, as... um.” Fuck. “Look, would you maybe like to catch a film together this week? If your Dad can spare you?” There it was, laid bare; a pint was one thing, but this could not be mistaken. Jaskier was asking for a proper date.

It was obvious Geralt knew. He paused, fidgeting for the first time. Jaskier felt dizzy with adrenaline.

“You know what? Don’t worry about it. I thought maybe—I felt, uh, um. I was probably wrong. You probably have a girlfriend, and that’s totally fine – I’d still like to be your friend, if—”

 _"Jask,"_ Geralt signed, _"Stop. I don’t have a girlfriend. Yes, I would like to see a film."_

Jaskier stared. “You would?” He squeaked.

Geralt smiled, almost shyly. _"Yeah, I would. Wednesday night is best for me if it works for you. Text me details?"_

“Yes!” Jaskier blurted, “I mean, yeah. Wednesday. I’ll find us something good.”

 _"Cool,"_ Geralt signed, _"I’m looking forward to it. Thanks for the drinks, Jask."_

“Thanks for... thanks for meeting me.” Jaskier stood at the same time as Geralt. The table was between them, ruling out the chance of a hug, but he was surprised when Geralt reached over to squeeze his shoulder. Then the larger man left, the cutest smirk tugging at his lips.

In something of a daze, Jaskier finished the last of his wine, went inside to settle the tab, and then headed outside to the tube station. Only when he was on the ride home did he pull out his phone. There was a message from Geralt that made him smile.

_-Text me when you get home safe._

And then one from Yennefer.

_-Is it going to be a spring wedding? Boss, I’m a single mum. I’m counting on you to amuse me._

He hastily replied to Yen. - _We’re going out again on Wednesday! Like, **out** out. I asked him!_

She texted a response quickly. - _Did you smooch him?_

_-He squeezed my shoulder!_

_-Wow, that’s like, second base. You absolute slut, boss._

Jaskier snorted. - _Come on, admit that you’re proud of me._

_-Alright, fine. I am. But I am still giving myself credit. He probably fell in love with your outfit._

_-Oh my God, what should I wear on Wednesday?_ Jaskier’s thumbs flashed across the keyboard.

_-Ah hah! Monday project. Gotta go, child to feed, bath to take with bottle of wine. Have a good weekend, boss._

_-You too. Have a glass for me._ Jaskier replied, and then tucked his phone away.

He practically skipped all the way home, stopping to pick up a chicken tikka masala and naan bread at the Indian restaurant near his apartment, because he had yet to shop for groceries. Once safely inside, he texted Geralt as he promised, and sat on his couch with his takeout.

He was halfway through the meal when his phone buzzed, and he looked at it.

_-Thanks for letting me know. By the way, I’m buying our tickets on Wednesday._

Jaskier grinned around his forkful of chicken. - _How gentlemanly. I’ll buy our popcorn._

 _-I’ll buy our drinks._ Geralt shot back.

 _-I’ll buy the malteasers_. Jaskier teased.

_-I’ll pay for you to have a go on those stupid claw machines._

_-I’ll win and give you the stuffed animal_. Jaskier added a bear emoji.

 _-I’ll call it Jask_.

Jaskier let out a little squeal and hugged his phone.


	4. A Not-Film

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier and Yennefer strengthen their friendship bond. He finds out more about Eskel, too. Wednesday's date with Geralt doesn't exactly go smoothly.

For once in his life, Jaskier was on time. Not late, not picking lint from his trousers in a waiting-room chair; he swanned into work on Monday at exactly eight-thirty in the morning, carrying a keep-cup of coffee from the quaint café on the corner. He went to his office, shrugged out of his jacket, and hung it up. Placing his laptop bag down, he nudged the computer awake with the point of his shoe, and then strode out the door. Yennefer's office was open, so he invited himself in, and draped himself across an empty part of her desk stomach-first, like a cat.

“You're wearing the Tom Ford suit and one of the Armani shirts,” She noted, barely looking up from the monitor, “Nice.”

“I'm in _loooove._ ” Jaskier moaned, kicking his legs.

“Oh, and the Givenchy loafers,” Yen said, “You scrub up nice, Boss.”

“Do you think he'll mind if it's a short engagement?” Jaskier wondered, poking the waste-paper basket tucked beneath the desk.

“Well, being as it's the middle of autumn, you'd best get busy during winter if you want that spring wedding.” Yennefer's tone was casual as she clicked through her systems, getting everything set up.

“You're right. God, you're _always_ right.”

She snorted. “Morning, Jaskier.”

“Morning, Yen. Thank you, again. For everything. And also for the prep you're going to do for Wednesday's date.” Jaskier glanced at her side-long, grinning.

“Oh, I am, am I?” Yennefer folded her arms.

“Got you a 'thank-you, and please help me again' gift. And I didn't even need help. I am fairly sure this,” He withdrew a small Tiffany & Co box from his pocket, flat and square, “Is a fairly popular box to receive. _And_ it's a designer.” Jaskier sounded very pleased with himself.

Yen's eyes glittered upon seeing the trademark blue, although the ribbon was ever-so slightly squashed from being in Jaskier's pocket. “Aw, Boss! You shouldn't have, really.”

“No, only the best for my personal... um. Friend? Can I call you that?” Jaskier asked.

“Friend sounds nice.” Yennefer nodded, and opened the box. Inside lay a delicate gold chain bracelet with a small 'x' as a pendant. It was elegant but edgy, just like her. She made a hum of approval.

“I thought of you when I saw it in the window.” Jaskier tried not to wriggle his toes. “Do you like it?”

“It's really lovely, thank you.” Yen said, turning it over in her hands. “Boss, you didn't need to get me anything. I enjoy spending time with you. You're kind of like the gay little brother I never wanted.”

Jaskier beamed. “I'll take that as a compliment. And no, I didn't need to, but you've made my time here much easier. And I appreciate having someone to talk to about my dashing, _gorgeous_ , tall husband-to-be--”

“You mean the one that's headed our way now?”

“Yes, I mean the-- _what?_ ” Jaskier leapt off the desk and straightened his shirt, leaning on one hand, trying to appear casual. “Be cool, Yen.” He hissed.

She rolled her eyes.

Geralt knocked, and Yennefer smiled. “Come in!” She said.

 _"Hello,"_ Geralt signed. The gesture was pretty universal. Both Jaskier and Yen returned it.

“Good morning, Geralt.” Jaskier hoped his cheeks weren't as pink as they felt. “How was your Sunday?”

 _"Not bad. I got most of the housework done,"_ He replied.

“He had a domestic Sunday.” Jaskier translated, glancing at Yen.

“Oh, that sounds nice. I cooked bulk meals for my six-year-old, and then picked her up from her father's house. Lord, we're all _too_ exciting.” Yennefer said.

“Hey, you don't know what I got up to.” Jaskier folded his arms.

“Yes I do.” Yen smirked, “You texted me complaining about how your local Tesco's doesn't have the same kind of potato salad as the one in Leeds. Riveting.”

Jaskier definitely blushed, then. “Maybe _after_ that I went and raced dirt bikes.”

 _"You told me you were going to register at the library,"_ Geralt signed.

“Fine, I registered at the library.” Jaskier didn't need to translate, because he'd also texted Yennefer from there, bemoaning the small foreign language section.

Yennefer snickered, and Geralt grinned. He glanced at the Tiffany & Co box, and tilted his head.

 _"Secret admirer?"_ He asked.

“Geralt wants to know if you have a secret admirer.” Jaskier said.

Yen snorted. “Hardly. Only Jaskier. He can't afford me. Hey, mind doing up the clasp, Boss?”

Jaskier bent to do so, and missed the slight frown that crossed Geralt's features. He fiddled with it for a moment, before it was secure. Yen stretched out her arm and shook it down to her wrist.

 _"It's lovely."_ Geralt motioned, _"It was good to see you, Jaskier. Ms Vengerberg."_

“He says he likes it-- Geralt!” Jaskier trotted after him, and the bigger man paused, half-turning. “It's really good to see you, too.”

Geralt nodded, and then continued on his way. Jaskier felt like his mood was slightly soured, but he didn't think it was a good time to ask questions. He had work to begin, and both Yennefer and Eskel would be busy with the New York exchange soon. Ducking his head back in, he waved at Yen.

“Lunch tomorrow?” He asked. What he really meant was, 'listen to me panic about Wednesday for an hour'.

Yen knew this. She sighed, and nodded, although the long-suffering look on her face was exaggerated. “You're paying.”

“Right. Sausage rolls from Greggs it is, then.”

He retreated to his office to the sound of Yennefer's indignation.

\---------------

Jaskier was finishing the translation of an email when Eskel knocked on his door. “It's open!” He called, double-checking the last sentence for grammar.

“Hey, Jask'.” Eskel said, helping himself to the small leather seat in Jaskier's office. “Good weekend?”

“Really good.” Jaskier smiled, and then realised he'd need to elaborate if he said things like that. He'd promised not to treat Geralt as office gossip. More specifically, he'd meant Geralt's mutism, but he wondered if Geralt would want anyone to know they'd gone out at all. “I got a lot of stuff done, went to a pub for a drink or two. You?”

“Watched the game with the boys.” Eskel wrinkled his nose. “Chelsea really fucked it.”

“Oh, yeah.” Jaskier cradled his chin in his hand. “Totally.”

“Who's your team?” Eskel flicked through an English to Mandarin dictionary.

“Whoever wears the shortest shorts.” Jaskier said.

Eskel barked out a laugh. “Fair enough. So is it safe to say that football isn't your sport?”

“Any sport isn't my sport. Except maybe that ribbon dancing they do at the Olympics? That's really pretty.” Jaskier hummed. “I wonder how one gets into ribbon dancing.”

“Competitive ribbon dancing, got it.” His colleague leaned in. “Is it too forward to ask... erm, which _team_ you go to bat for?”

“Nope!” Jaskier chirped, “Open book. I'm gay as a box of rainbows, my friend. Why?”

Eskel relaxed. “Oh, good. Well, I noticed your suit, and I can never get mine to fit... properly, you know? I always listen to the Marks and Sparks assistants, but they end up... I don't know, wrong.”

“So you thought that the gay man would know how to dress you?” Jaskier raised an eyebrow.

“Is that offensive?” Eskel ducked his head. “Sorry.”

Jaskier grinned. “It's stereotyping pretty hard. But I'm not mad, don't worry. I _am_ , according to your theories, a fake gay, though. I'm not responsible for these clothes. No fashion sense whatsoever. Yen took me shopping.”

Eskel's eyebrows raised. “Really? Huh. I guess that makes sense. I didn't notice what you were wearing last week, but today, you look...” He scruffed the back of his head.

“Dashing? Dastardly? Devilishly--”

“Less like a transient person. Stop alliterating at me.”

“Darn.”

Eskel laughed again. “Well, I suppose I'll continue to pray for a better suit.”

“ _Or_ you could ask Yen.” Jaskier said, “She's really good.”

A flush settled across Eskel's nose. Absently, he scratched at his arm. “Uh, no. I don't think she'd be interested in helping me.”

Jaskier didn't want discordance in his team. He put his boss face on, and rolled his chair away from the monitors. “Why not?”

Eskel raised his large shoulders in a shrug. “She just... doesn't seem very interested in me. Never has. I mean, I understand _why_ – look at her, she's gorgeous – but...”

“Wait, wait.” Jaskier lowered his voice conspiratorially. “You have a crush on her?”

“Jaskier, we're not in high school.”

“If we were, would you ask her to prom?” Jaskier's eyes were wide.

Eskel groaned and palmed his face. “No, I wouldn't, because she wouldn't want to go with me, and I prefer to keep my dignity intact. Or as intact as I can manage, considering Lambert is my brother.”

Jaskier hummed. “She's divorced, you know that. Have you ever asked her out for coffee?”

A cringe. “No.”

“For a drink?”

“We get drinks after work sometimes, me, Lambert and Yen.”

“Yen, Lambert and I.” Jaskier corrected, “And that's not asking her out if your brother is your chaperone. Maybe she just has no idea?”

“Jaskier,” Eskel groaned, “Women like her don't look at guys like me.”

“What's wrong with you?” Jaskier asked, “You're a strapping man in your prime. You clearly work out. You have a good job, and I expect no criminal record--”

“I've never been in a relationship for longer than a couple of years. Never married. Don't have a kid that her's could play with. Not exactly supermodel material, facially. In my spare time, I--” Eskel snapped his mouth shut.

“You...?” Jaskier coaxed.

“I... volunteer at an animal rehabilitation clinic. Nursing badgers without mums, or fox kits. That kind of thing. There's currently a baby kestrel in my laundry.” Eskel didn't look Jaskier in the eye.

“Oh my God!” Jaskier's pitch could probably summon nearby dogs, “That's _adorable!_ ”

“Yeah, and I never hear the end of it from Lambert. You know what he does as a hobby? Restores vintage motorcycles. _That's_ cool.”

“Yeah, but he doesn't have a kestrel minion.” Jaskier said dreamily.

“Point is, it'd never happen.” Eskel deflated.

“Well, not with that attitude.” Jaskier huffed. “You're going to go out and buy some books on self-esteem after work, and I am going to do some gentle probing with Yen.”

“Jaskier,” Eskel growled, “Don't you dare.”

“Relax! I am discrete. Promise. No, seriously, I would not breech your trust.” Jaskier held his hands up.

Eskel eyed him for a long moment, before sighing. “Should've just asked you where you bought the damn suit and left it at that.”

“Probably.” Jaskier conceded. As Eskel departed his office, he called out, “It's from Tom Ford!”

\---------------

Yennefer was considering an olive with suspicion, rolling it to the side of her chicken penne. Jaskier sat opposite her, doing more gesturing than eating. Two large glasses of sparkling water sat on the table of the modern Italian restaurant that Yen had chosen for their lunch.

“And that's why Carlson is a bell-end.” Jaskier finished, viciously stabbing the spinach tortellini on his plate, “I did _not_ make a translation error. He made a fucking judgement error, and now he's trying to pin the blame on me.”

“Guy's an absolute twat.” Yen agreed, sipping her water. “There's about... six brokers that take on major accounts. Two of them are alright, but the other four are definitely evil robots. I refuse to believe humans can be as shitty as them.”

Jaskier snorted. “Could we stab them in the name of science, then? Hypothesis: evil robot. Method: stabby.”

Yen shrugged. “Sure.”

“I have my email receipts. If he goes to HR, then he's the one who'll look like an asshole.” Jaskier said.

“He won't.” Yennefer assured him, “They never do. They just like to threaten our jobs because it makes them feel more secure in their own. Nothing can ever be their fault, you know? Don't worry too much about it.”

“Thanks, Yen.” Jaskier picked at his salad, trying to get all the baby spinach leaves onto his fork at once. “By the way, I know we've been really focused about me lately. Tell me about your life. Are you dating? Do you want advice on how to fuck it up? 'Cause I'm your man.”

Yennefer laughed. “I can fuck my life up just fine on my own, thanks, Boss. Nah, I'm not seeing anyone. Are you joking? I have a six year old daughter and a high-paid job in a London stockbroking firm. Men are either terrified of the kid, or terrified that I'll put their balls in my Prada bag. It's fine, though. Ciri is the sweetest girl. I like having her around.”

“Hmm, so that's an 'I'm not dating because there's nobody who'd be interested', or an 'I'm not dating because I don't want to date'?” Jaskier asked.

“The former.” Yen narrowed her eyes. “Why? You got a cute brother?”

“Only child, alas. And I was just wondering. Like, if I find a suitable man, do I elbow you gently in the side? Do I wingman? If you need me to make someone jealous, I can totally act straight.” Jaskier grinned.

“You couldn't straight your way out of a paper bag, Boss, and that makes you wonderful. You're like a bubble of energy. Sometimes it makes me want to puke a bit.” Yen said, chewing the bread.

“Aw, _you._ ” Jaskier waved a hand at her. “Okay, ambiguous answer. For now, I'll just keep my eyes peeled.”

“You do that.” Yen smirked. “You'll be looking for awhile. As soon as you say 'single mum', they _all_ run.”

“Then I'll find a man with no legs. Or something. Listen, shut up. It's done. Now, what about Wednesday night? We're seeing a film, so casual clothes again. What should I take him to see? I usually go see foreign films when I go to the theatre. But that seems a bit pretentious, doesn't it? Oh, God, what if he likes Adam Sandler? _Yennefer_ \--”

“Jaskier,” She interjected, “I think if he likes you, he'd be interested in your interests, don't you? Choose something you want to see.”

He scrunched up his nose. “You make it sound so easy.”

“That's because it is, you spoon. Now, let's talk clothes.”

\---------------

After work on Wednesday, Jaskier put on the outfit Yen had suggested. Black jeans – mercifully sans pre-made hole – and a dark emerald sweater with a v-neck, coupled with a taupe suede coat. He'd worn his trusty converse to their first date, so he tossed up between a new pair of Ted Baker boots, or his battle-worn Doc Martens. Comfort won out, and he slipped on the familiar black shoes, liking the worn-in look it gave the ensemble. Although a small scruff of his chest-hair was already on display, he slipped on a long necklace on a black leather cord, a silver triangle pendant weighing it down. Then he snapped a picture in his full length mirror and sent it to Yen for approval.

 _-You have like, an hour until you meet him. Looks good though._ Yen replied.

 _-I know. Ample time to do my hair and have three panic attacks. Thanks!_ Jaskier fired back.

He went into the small bathroom and began to fiddle with his hair. It didn't take him long to style; it was a case of blow-dry and some pomade, but he toyed with swooping it back before he winced at his giant forehead, and scruffed his fringe safely down into place.

Right. Fifty-five minutes in which to have three panic attacks.

He checked his phone, making sure the film was still due to start at eight. He was meeting Geralt at half-past seven. He'd chosen a Spanish drama, because the reviews were fantastic and it sounded as though there was a healthy mix of action and plot. Geralt had made no objection when he'd mentioned the Curzon cinema in Soho.

If he left now, he'd be early, he knew it. He tried to waste time with cleaning, putting away the few dishes from his sink. Ultimately though, his nerves won out. He decided to leave for the tube just in case it was busy. On a Wednesday night.

It was, in fact, decidedly empty. As he changed lines, and then headed up the stairs to locate the cinema, he checked the time. Twenty past seven. Not _ridiculously_ early, at least.

He found the place with ease, weaving through the small West End crowds. Entertainment never stopped. He wondered what it would be like on a weekend night. Outside of Curzon, he leaned against a wall, rubbing his hands to keep them warm. The nights were getting colder quickly.

After a few minutes, he saw a familiar silver mop of hair, and perked up. Geralt had his hair in a messy bun, a few wisps framing his sharp features. He wore a burgundy turtleneck sweater and a camel-coloured scarf loosely draped around his shoulders. His jeans were dark, accented with a chunky belt with a silver buckle. The sneakers he wore weren't branded and looked a little worn, but they matched the outfit. It was obvious to Jaskier that Geralt had made an effort. The idea made his stomach do a little flip.

“Hey!” He called, “Geralt!”

Geralt spotted him through the small crowd filtering past, and smiled. Jaskier's insides did a double-flip. God, the man was so beautiful. He carefully weaved his way through the pedestrians and stood in front of Jaskier.

He raised his arms, and Jaskier took it as an invitation. Jaskier was the kind of man who hugged like he meant it; no patting on the back, no weak squeezes. He wrapped his arms around Geralt and embraced him gleefully. Geralt froze up completely.

_Shit._

After an awkward moment, Geralt returned the greeting, although his hug was somewhat shy. Jaskier released him as soon as possible, clearing his throat.

“Sorry,” Jaskier winced, “Thought you were gesturing for a hug.”

 _"I was raising my arms to tell you that I like your necklace,"_ Geralt signed, looking bashful. _"I liked the hug, though."_

“Oh.” Jaskier perked up. “Well, thank you. And I, I did too.”

Nervously, the two men stood there for a moment. Without the buffer of liquor, the expectation on them became that much more obvious. They were on a date. Jaskier had not seen Geralt since Monday morning, and he'd been obsessing over this moment for the entire week.

“I, uh, did you read about the film we're seeing?” Jaskier asked. “It has subtitles. Not that-- not that you need them. Uh, well, you _do_ need them, unless you know Spanish. What I mean is, it's... a foreign film.”

Geralt's lovely lips settled into a little smirk. _"I like foreign film,"_ he signed. _"And I like the era it's set in. I'm sure you chose well."_

“You do?” Jaskier brightened again. “That's great! Um, did you want to get tickets?”

 _"I love tickets!"_ Geralt signed.

Jaskier laughed. “' _Charlie's Angels_ ', nice. Are you an angel, or a Bosley?”

 _"I'm a Charlie."_ Geralt replied, still smirking.

“Run the show, do you? Nice. I'd like to think I'm a Lucy Liu, but I'm probably more of a Cameron Diaz. But without the blonde. And you know, the hotness.” Jaskier approached the kiosk, following Geralt.

 _"I think,"_ Geralt began to sign, but the lady at the computer interrupted him.

“Hello, gentlemen.” She chirped, “Which film are you seeing?”

Jaskier pronounced the title expertly, and Geralt pointedly pulled out his wallet, challenging Jaskier with a side-long glance. Jaskier held his hands up in defeat. As Geralt paid for their tickets, Jaskier looked around for the refreshments, a little disappointed that there was no popcorn to be had. At least the bar boasted liquor. As they stepped away from the kiosk, Jaskier pointed at the café.

“There's no popcorn, but I can see cake. How do you feel about cake?”

 _"I could go for some cake,"_ Geralt signed.

“Excellent, man after my heart.” How true a statement. “Now, I prefer chocolate myself, but that macaron looks... ah, fuck it.”

He ordered a small selection of the pastries. Geralt tapped his shoulder.

 _"I'm buying the drinks, remember?"_ He gestured.

“Not if we're drinking alcohol, you're not.” Jaskier protested. “That hardly seems fair.”

Geralt frowned. _"I said I'd buy the drinks, Jask."_

“Yeah, but there's no malteasers, and no claw machine. We won't be even.” Geralt stared at him for a long moment, until he relented. “Fine, _fine_. Glass of rosé.”

Geralt shook his head. _"Ask for a bottle,"_ he signed, _"I'll drink too."_

Jaskier nodded, smiling at the woman when she returned with a small box laden with treats. He requested the wine and glasses, and Geralt pulled out his wallet again. Jaskier couldn't help but notice that the leather was worn and old.

How much did janitors make? Fuck, he should have insisted on buying the wine. He suddenly felt uncomfortable in his new outfit, and shrugged out of the jacket. Next time, he'd think of something a bit cheaper for them to do.

 _Fucking was free_ , he thought. And then he chased that idea out of his mind. Geralt had been surprised by the hug; he had a feeling this was going to be a slow-building relationship.

Inside the cinema, Geralt proved him very wrong.

They chose seats up the back. The theatre was mostly empty; it was them and two other couples in front. They set their food and drink down, taking to sign language to communicate in the lowlight before the film started.

To be fair, Geralt had initiated it. He'd bitten into a caramel fudge brownie and had made a low moan so sinful that Jaskier would defy any human with ears not to get aroused. And then he'd carefully held out his thumb, smeared with warm caramel. Jaskier had waited to see if this was some kind of a gesture, but Geralt's eyes were dark.

Jaskier ran his tongue gently up the length of Geralt's hand, sucking his thumb into his mouth and laving the rich caramel off with delight. He released him with a tiny pop. Geralt's features were ravenous.

By the time the ads were finishing and the film was starting, they were already making out like horny teenagers. Jaskier was sat astride Geralt's lap, fingers woven into his hair. Geralt supported him, fingers kneading the meat of Jaskier's arse. They traded hot stubble-scratch chocolate kisses, licking into each other's mouths, teeth nipping and grazing. Geralt tasted like dessert and everything Jaskier considered holy. He was warm and hard beneath him, and for a crazy moment, Jaskier glanced around at the other patrons, wondering if he'd get away with giving him a blowjob.

Unfortunately, a torch shone upon them.

“Sirs, this is a _respectable_ establishment.” An usher whispered. “We must ask you to behave, or leave.”

Jaskier glared at the light, and at the person responsible for breaking them apart. Geralt was bright red with embarrassment. Holding his chin high, Jaskier picked up the bottle of wine.

“Well, those are boring options.” He huffed, “I vote the latter.”

He hopped off of Geralt's lap, who stood. They left the glasses and the remnants of the cakes, and exited the theatre hand-in-hand. Jaskier was giggling, and by the time they hit the fresh air outside, so was Geralt.

“God, what a stick-in-the-mud! It's not like we were bothering anyone. Unless I was moaning. Was I moaning?” Jaskier asked.

 _"You were kind of moaning,"_ Geralt signed.

“Ah. Fair, then. In my defence, you have the firmest hands.” Jaskier grinned cheekily.

 _"I didn't plan that,"_ Geralt replied. _"I'm sorry we didn't see the film."_

“Sod the film.” Jaskier said, “We have a bottle of overpriced rosé and a young night. Let's go find one of those claw machines.”

\---------------

Street drinking, whilst technically legal, wasn't exactly encouraged in London. Jaskier kept the bottle in his jacket, and they traded sneaky sips as they went on their quest. It turned out that Chinatown was the hub for all claw machines, and both a little tipsy, they descended upon them with glee. For a brief moment there was a squabble over who would pay for what, but Jaskier was the only one with change, so he made a grand show of putting the two quid into each machine, much to Geralt's chagrin.

Their hand-eye co-ordination wasn't in top form, and they both tried and failed to snag a small stuffed horse. It was wearing a cowboy hat, which made Geralt laugh. Eight pounds later, Jaskier simply went into the store and asked the owner how much the toy cost. The man went out the back and produced an identical one (as Geralt struggled with the machine outside), and Jaskier handed over twenty quid. He exited, and produced the horse with a theatrical flourish.

Geralt blinked, and looked at the machine, and then at the offering. _"Did you buy that?"_ He signed.

“Yeah! Turns out it's a lot easier that way.” Jaskier grinned.

Geralt laughed, and took the toy. _"Why? You didn't have to."_

Jaskier shrugged. “'Cause it made you laugh.”

Geralt bit his lower lip. He reached for Jaskier's hand. Together, they wandered towards the tube station.

\---------------

The wine was finished, and Jaskier discarded the bottle. They were stood outside the station; Geralt was taking a different line to him. The date hadn't gone exactly as planned, but honestly, Jaskier had enjoyed every second of it.

“Well.” He said, shyly looking up at Geralt through his lashes.

Geralt fiddled with the edge of his scarf, and shrugged.

“Would you.. would you like to do something again, soon?” Jaskier chanced.

Geralt hesitated. _"That bracelet you gave to Yen,"_ he signed, _"Why did you give that to her?"_

“Oh, because she... well, she helped me look like less of a nerdy mess. Took me shopping, calmed me down about our date. She's a friend.”

Geralt nodded. _"So you're not seeing her like you see me?"_

Jaskier shook his head. “No, Geralt. Even if I was polyamorous, I'm very much team penis. And I'm very much team Geralt, right now.” Was that a bit much? He could blame the wine.

Smiling, Geralt nodded again. He seemed relieved. _"I'm team Jask,"_ he signed. _"And I want to see you on Friday, after work, if you're not busy?"_

Jaskier answered by stepping a little closer, searching Geralt's hazel eyes for permission. He kissed him softly, a gentle promise. Geralt nuzzled closer, deepening the embrace briefly. Before they got carried away again, Jaskier parted, his grin dazzling.

“Friday it is. I had fun, Geralt. You can take me to a not-film anytime.”

Geralt stroked Jaskier's cheek fondly. _"Thank you for Jaskier."_ He held up the stuffed horse.

“God, it _had_ to be a horse in a cowboy hat. I forgot our deal.” Jaskier laughed. “See you, Ger'.”

 _"Text me when you're home,"_ Geralt gestured, and then he walked down the stairs.

Jaskier watched him go, licking his lower lip, savouring the sharpness of the wine.

\---------------

 _-We got kicked out of the cinema for making out._ Jaskier texted Yen on the tube.

_-You did not! Oh, Boss, you're a rebel. More details, please._

_-Nope. Just know that it was the best night of my life so far, and I have a third date!_ He fired back.

_-Look at you! Remember when you came to me wearing your oversized suit, all doe-eyed and sad? How you've grown. I am legendary._

_-That was like, five days ago._ Jaskier rolled his eyes.

_-Gotta go, need my legendary sleep. Night, Boss._

_-Night, Yen._

Once he was safely inside his flat, he pulled his phone out again. There was a message from Geralt. He thumbed the screen active, and opened it.

It was a picture of Jaskier – the horse – on a pillow.

- _Does Jaskier get to sleep with you, then? Home safe, by the way._ Jaskier grinned. 

_-We'll see. I don't just ride any steed, you know._

_-How very dare you. I'll have you know that horse is a purebred prize-winning stallion._

_-He's wearing a cowboy hat._ Geralt included a hat emoji.

_-The latest in horse couture! Plus he's taking care of his skin._

_-I suppose I'll keep him around, then._

_-Glad to hear it. Make sure you groom him properly. And exercise him._ Jaskier smiled.

_-This is getting weird._

_-You're the one who wants to fuck a stuffed horse, Ger, not me._

_-Okay, now I'm definitely going to sleep._

_-Want to see the companion on my pillow?_ Jaskier replied.

_-I hesitate to say yes._

Jaskier snapped a picture of his right hand on top of his spare pillow on his queen-sized bed, and sent it.

_-Lmao. Honestly, I'm jealous._

_-Don't let the horse hear you say that. Night, Ger._

_-Night, Jask. Think about me. ;)_

Christ, he was already going to, but now? Giddy, he flopped back onto the bed, re-reading the text conversation and giggling like a schoolboy. Geralt was more wonderful than he'd even imagined.


	5. Kings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier discovers that there's a lot to Geralt. He'd already expected as much, but Geralt thinks it's time he finds out more of the story. Is Geralt's past something Jaskier can live with?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for past trauma in this chapter. Please double-check the tags, but without giving too much away: car crashes, death, injury, childhood illnesses/depression. Please also note that I am not a doctor -- anything I know about selective mutism, I've researched. It may not be completely correct!
> 
> A lovely person commented and said that within the ASL/BSL community, they prefer it when people write with quotation marks instead of italics, but another lovely person said they were having trouble differentiating between speech and signing, and after looking into it I've changed Geralt's/signed dialogue to italic quotes.
> 
> Also if you're interested, this is the hotel suite they're staying at: https://www.shangri-la.com/london/shangrila/rooms-suites/suites/london-suite/

Thursday went by in a blur of unexpected activity. There was a press announcement that affected the Shanghai exchange, and Jaskier barely had time to shove lunch into his mouth at his desk, inundated by emails. By the time he powered down his computer, it was nearing six in the evening. He pulled his jacket on, already dreaming about the long bath he was going to take at home.

As he left his office, he perked up at the sight of a certain silver-haired janitor across the large room. Geralt's lower half was obscured by the barrier of cubicles. He was looking down, his expression troubled, and Jaskier heard the high-pitch of a second person talking. Geralt was a capable man, but something nagged at Jaskier, and he made his way through the maze of desks to the other end of the floor.

“...never emptied! Are you _stupid_ as well as mute, huh? Is that why you have nothing to say for yourself? What, were you kicked in the head by a mule? For fuck's sake, the _incompetence_. A monkey could do your job!”

Jaskier bristled as he overheard the words. His fingers curled tightly around the handle of his laptop bag, knuckles paling. Rounding the corner, he saw Geralt standing contritely as one of the executive assistants verbally lashed him. He had his pad of paper out, but Jaskier couldn't see what was written.

“What's going on here?” He tried to keep his voice neutral, but there was an edge to it. Geralt startled a bit, fixing his gaze upon Jaskier. He reached out and gripped Jaskier's forearm, but the smaller man was focused upon the outraged woman.

“I was just telling this janitor,” The middle-aged bitch squinted at Geralt's coveralls, “ _Ger_ alt,” She mispronounced his name, “That my bin hasn't been emptied all week. I've enough to do without worrying about it!”

Jaskier's jaw tightened. “I see.” He inclined his head. “And you don't think you could have asked Geralt,” Emphasis on the correctness, “More politely to assist you? Or maybe you could have sent an email to--”

“I shouldn't have to!” The woman squawked. Jaskier looked at her desk, noting her name: _Frances_. Junior assistant to Mr. Carlson. It fucking figured that he'd hire someone as mean-spirited as himself.

Jaskier glanced at Geralt's pad, saw that he'd written down ' _I haven't been on shift for this section_ ', and then crossed it out. He inhaled through his nose. Geralt had written ' _I am sorry'_ beneath it.

“Everyone makes mistakes, Frances.” Jaskier's voice was sugary-sweet, like the nectar of a Venus fly-trap. “I think perhaps you ought to remember that, and apologise for how you just spoke.”

She sneered. “I will do no such thing. Who are _you,_ anyway? I've been with this company for eleven years! I don't need to be surrounded by such--”

“Such _what,_ Fran?” Jaskier cut her off this time, leaning forward. “Go on, keep talking. I am sure HR would love to hear what you have to say to me.”

Frances spluttered. Geralt's grip tightened, and Jaskier turned his head. He was shaking his head violently, 'no'. Those lovely eyes pleaded with him to stop. Jaskier wanted to upturn the bin over Frances and throw her keyboard clear across the room, but he took an unsteady breath, and straightened.

“I'm sure the problem won't occur twice.” Jaskier said. His eyes were twin daggers, slits of broken sea-glass, edges made fresh and dangerous. “Good evening, Frances.”

She muttered under her breath as Jaskier pulled Geralt away. Geralt was signing something, but Jaskier could not think, could not translate it; he was livid, trembling bodily. As they passed the bathrooms, Geralt pulled him into the accessible one, and locked the door. Jaskier paced the small length of the room, and then turned the cold tap on, splashing himself in the face.

“Bitch,” He hissed, “Fucking _bitch._ I will have her job for talking to you that way, Geralt. I will--”

Geralt made a low noise, which stopped Jaskier. He realised he'd been ignoring the larger man, consumed by his own rage instead. He wiped his face.

 _“Please don't tell human resources,”_ Geralt signed. _“Please just leave it, Jask'.”_

“Why not?” Jaskier said, trying to control the volume of his voice. “She can't speak to you like that! _Nobody_ can speak to you like that!”

 _“Because I need this job.”_ Geralt begged. _“I can't make waves. Please, Jask'.”_

Jaskier placed his hands on Geralt's chest, smoothing the material of his uniform down. He needed to feel the other man's warmth, needed the sensation of something real and tactile to ground him. Slowly, he found himself nodding.

“I wouldn't do anything you would not want me to do, Ger'.” He agreed, and felt the larger man relax. “But... how often does that sort of thing happen?”

Geralt hesitated, eyeing Jaskier carefully. That was an answer in itself. _“It doesn't matter.”_ Geralt gestured.

“How can you think that?” Jaskier's voice broke. “Of course it does.”

 _“I can handle it.”_ Geralt lifted his shoulders in a shrug.

“I know you can, Ger', but you shouldn't _have_ to. Fuck.” Jaskier ran his hands through his hair.

Geralt hesitated, and then signed. _“There's a lot I haven't told you about me, Jaskier.”_

Jaskier nodded. “I know. I told you that you can tell me in your own time--”

The larger man shook his head. _“I care about you. Already. You should know everything, before we take this any further.”_

“I care about you too, Geralt.” Jaskier said, stroking his stubbled cheek. Geralt nuzzled into the touch. “I certainly care about you enough to not have such an important conversation in a toilet.”

Geralt laughed a little, then, and the sound made Jaskier feel better. _“I know I said Friday, but – are you available tonight?”_ His hands moved hesitantly.

Jaskier nodded. “How much longer do you have to work? And what of your father?”

 _“My sister is visiting. I have to put my supplies away, get changed, and then I'm free.”_ Geralt bit his lip. _“Where should we meet?”_

“Is my house okay?” Jaskier asked. “I don't want to be forward, but I also don't want to invade one of your safe spaces. I've been trying to read about mutism in my spare time. If you're going to tell me something personal, I don't want you to compromise your progress.”

Geralt softened visibly, his lips curving into a smile. But then he pointed out, _“What if you don't like what I tell you? What if I connect your house with...”_ He stopped gesturing. Jaskier could see rising panic in his expression.

“Hey, now.” He soothed, “I understand. Look, there's a hotel nearby – it's a bit bourgeoisie, but I don't mind renting us a room. That way, if anything bad happens, or you feel threatened, you can just leave. How does that sound?”

 _“I'll pay for half.”_ Geralt offered.

“My perky _arse_ you will,” Jaskier said, “You bought the wine, remember?”

_“You bought the horse.”_

“Oh, sod it. Let me do this, Geralt. Let me take care of you.” Jaskier used his best doe-eyes. They had a track record of working. Geralt was not immune.

He nodded slowly, rolling his eyes. _“Fine.”_ He signed, _“You're a brat.”_

“I know.” Jaskier grinned brilliantly, and then reached over to kiss Geralt's cheek. Geralt turned his head, grazing his lips with Jaskier's instead, and he instantly accepted the invitation. The embrace was brief, but full of meaning and promise. Jaskier's heart fluttered in his chest.

“It's across the street. I think it's called the Shangri-La hotel? I'll go get us a room now, whilst you finish up and let your Dad know that you'll be late, okay?” Jaskier didn't want to presume that he'd stay the night. “Will you be alright if I go and do that?”

Geralt nodded. _“I don't need to go back onto the floor,”_ He signed, _“Just to the supply room.”_

“Okay.” Jaskier tried to smile encouragingly. “See you in the lobby?”

 _“I'll be quick.”_ Geralt promised. And then, he gestured, _“Thank you, Jask'.”_

“Of course.” Re-adjusting his laptop bag, Jaskier left the bathroom.

It took all of his willpower not to turn around and throttle Frances. Instead, he walked to the elevators. Hopefully the cool autumn air would soothe some of the flame within him.

\---------------

The Shangri-La hotel, it turned out, was rather popular for a Thursday evening. The standard rooms were all booked, leaving the suites for Jaskier's consideration. The receptionist was a sweet young woman, amenable to Jaskier's awkward charm, and she lowered the hefty fee for the London Suite as far as she reasonably could. Jaskier was thankful for it; he'd probably faint when he got his next credit card statement. But the alternative was to go hunting for a cheaper place to stay, and he didn't want to waste time. And anyway, Geralt was worth the money.

He sat in the lobby, playing with his phone. Scrolling through his texts, he thought about contacting Yen, but ultimately decided against it. Not only would she be bothering him for updates all night, she also probably knew more about Frances than Jaskier did, and he suspected she'd be in favour of goading Jaskier into finding her car to key it. He settled into a good old fashioned game of Candy Crush, letting the bright colours occupy his mind instead.

When he heard the a bell-hop welcoming someone, he looked up to see Geralt standing awkwardly by the entrance, blinking owlishly at the sleek furnishings. He was dressed in a faded long-sleeved shirt and old jeans, and a worn-looking brown leather jacket. Jaskier knew instantly that he was feeling nervous and out of place.

He rose and trotted to the other man's side. “Look, I know it's a bit much, but... let's just pretend we're on vacation, or something.” Jaskier grinned, hooking his arm through Geralt's. “C'mon. Here's your keycard. I have one too.”

Geralt pocketed the card, and nodded at Jaskier. Perhaps he didn't want to sign in the lobby. Jaskier lead them to the elevators.

“Pardon me, sirs,” A staff member stopped them. Jaskier raised his eyebrows, feeling Geralt tense beside him. He knew what the larger man was thinking; they were going to kick him out because he wasn't dressed very nicely.

Instead, the man smiled. “You will be using this elevator. It leads to your suite, where your butler will be waiting.” He gestured to a set of doors.

“Oh.” Jaskier cleared his throat, shooting Geralt a side-long glance. “Um, thank you.”

“Welcome, sir.” The man moved to call the elevator. Jaskier stepped in, and Geralt followed. He swiped his keycard to activate the panel, and pressed the button that read 'London Suite'. The doors swished shut.

 _“A butler?!”_ Geralt signed, looking frazzled.

“I didn't know it came with a _butler!_ ” Jaskier hissed, and then began giggling, because the situation suddenly seemed so absurd. Geralt glared, until the noise became infectious. By the time they reached their floor they were both guffawing foolishly.

They stepped out into a small hallway. Outside a pair of double doors, a man stood waiting – presumably the butler in question. Jaskier tried to swallow his laughter, but the harder he fought it, the more it bubbled from his chest.

“Welcome to the, uh, Shangri-La hotel, sirs,” The butler tried his best to look professional, as Jaskier wiped his eyes. “Do you have luggage arriving?”

“Oh, Christ,” Jaskier cleared his throat, “Excuse us. Private joke.” He read the butler's name tag. “A pleasure to meet you, Gregory. I am Jaskier, this is Geralt.”

Geralt nodded his head, trying to compose himself.

“Pleasure!” Gregory echoed. “May I offer--”

“I don't wish to offend, Gregory,” Jaskier interrupted, “But I am not sure we'll have need of your services for awhile. As exceptional as I think they might be.” He withdrew his wallet, and pushed twenty quid into the man's hand. “I hereby request that you take a break, on me. Would that be alright?”

Gregory blinked at the money, and then smiled. “Not a problem, sir. Enjoy the room. If you do have need for me, there's a call button on any of the phones.”

“Thank you!” Jaskier trilled, as the man made himself scarce. Then he swiped his card, and opened the doors.

Oh. Fuck.

The view was breathtakingly beautiful, a panoramic sweep of London and the River Thames. A bottle of Moët sat waiting in a tub of ice, accompanied by fresh strawberries and a pair of crystal flutes. The furnishings were fresh and modern; the lounge area they stood in opened into a large bedroom. It was luxurious, decadent, and _far_ too much.

Jaskier sneaked a guilty peek at Geralt from beneath his eyelashes. Geralt's mouth was open, his jaw slack as he took in the surroundings. He'd fucked it up. He'd gone over the top, as he was wont to do, and now Geralt would fold in on himself, and--

But Geralt make a noise, and flashed Jaskier the biggest grin. He strode confidently into the room as though he owned the damn hotel, dumping his work bag down. With arms spread wide, he turned on his feet to face Jaskier.

 _“We're kings!”_ He signed.

Jaskier bounced on the balls of his feet, laughing again. “Kings!” He agreed, letting his bag slouch to the floor with Geralt's. And then he joined the other man, letting the peculiarity of their circumstance join them together.

They explored the suite. The bed was huge and just bouncy enough, Jaskier found, as he removed his shoes and hopped on it like a child. Geralt made a noise of surprise as he toyed with a panel of buttons. They controlling the lights, the roller shades, and the television. It took them both some time to work out how to keep the lamps on, the shades up for now, and how to turn off the news that was now blaring in the bathroom.

“This is probably why you get a butler,” Jaskier guessed, “To show you how to operate the blasted place.”

Geralt snorted, strolling into the bathroom. He didn't come out for a long moment, and Jaskier followed him curiously. As he entered the marble-laid room, he understood why Geralt had paused.

“Holy shit.” Jaskier said, because there was nothing more intelligent to say. An enormous deep-soaking tub, easily big enough for the both of them, was set against a window that overlooked the twinkling lights of the city. The lighting in the room was dim, recessed into the walls, like the whole room was aglow. He felt the warmth of the heated floor through his socks.

 _“Please tell me you like baths.”_ Geralt signed.

“I fucking _love_ baths.” Jaskier whispered.

Geralt grinned. Jaskier felt his stomach fizz with excitement. For a moment, the both of them forgot the entire reason they'd come to the hotel.

When there was nothing left to investigate, reality came filtering rudely back in.

“Listen,” Jaskier said, “We have this fantastic room, and champagne, and I don't know about you but I am starving. I know we have a lot to talk about, but we also have all night. I vote that we get into those plush robes, order room service, and rule our kingdom for a bit.” He paused. “Unless you'd prefer to get the conversation over with?”

Geralt frowned, considering. Then he picked up the room service menu. _“If you got this room, I can get dinner.”_ He signed.

Jaskier raised his shoulders in a shrug. “If you like.” He said. He didn't mention that the hotel had Jaskier's information, and any additional charges would simply go to his card. Geralt needn't know.

\---------------

“Why did I eat all the cheesecake?” Jaskier moaned, his head in Geralt's lap. “I am going to die.”

Geralt chuckled. _“Worth it, though?”_

Jaskier nodded. “Totally worth it.”

They were spread out on the couch, Geralt nestled into the corner, Jaskier laying on his back, using Geralt's thigh as a pillow. Around them, the casualties of dinner lay strewn on plates and in the dregs of glasses. They'd opted to save the champagne for when they took a bath, ordering cocktails with their food instead. Geralt was a gin and tonic kind of a man, whereas Jaskier indulged in spiced whiskey with honey syrup. Neither of them were drunk, but they were relaxed.

“I like this.” Jaskier said. “Let's stay forever.”

 _“Alright.”_ Geralt signed, smiling. _“If we barricade the door, they can't get rid of us.”_

“Good plan, good plan.” Jaskier rubbed his stomach. “Alas, I am not moving for awhile.”

Thick fingers ran through his hair. He resisted the urge to close his eyes, needing to see Geralt's signing. _“No need to move.”_

Both of them were dressed in the hotel's robes and their boxer-briefs. There had been a shy moment, undressing, where Jaskier had offered to take the bathroom and give Geralt privacy. Ultimately they had decided they were grown men who were going to share a bed anyway, and they stripped down together, pretending not to sneak glances at one another. Jaskier was glad for the extra roomy fabric of the robe, because Geralt's body had him hot and hard embarrassingly fast. God, but he was _built._ It had been fortuitous that room service had arrived shortly after, because Jaskier would have proposed feasting on Geralt instead.

Now that they were comfortable and fed, Geralt's story lingered between them, untold. Jaskier did not press him. The radio was playing low, turned to a classical station, because it felt appropriate for the setting. Geralt sighed softly, catching Jaskier's attention.

 _“I was twelve,”_ He began to sign, _“When I stopped talking.”_

Jaskier sat up, turning on the couch, affording Geralt his full focus.

 _“My mother and father and I were in the car, coming home from my karate lesson. I remember they were talking about a planned vacation, laughing about finally getting some alone time together. I remember telling them they were gross.”_ Geralt's gaze was distant. _“I remember the smell of my mother's perfume, the one she'd always put on in the morning. They don't make it anymore. I think I'm glad that they don't._

 _The other car came out of nowhere. My father was driving in the proper lane, at the right speed. They told us later that the other driver had lost control of his vehicle. Something about brake lines, or brake pads. Either way, it smashed into the side of our car.”_ Geralt's fingers trembled. Jaskier gently placed his hand on the other man's knee, a silent reassurance.

 _“I remember the scream of metal on metal. I remember the taste of blood in my mouth. The world spinning as our car rolled and rolled, eventually stopping in an embankment. For awhile, it was fuzzy and dark. I must have lost consciousness, or suffered shock. When I came to, I heard voices. My father had been freed from the vehicle already by fire fighters. He was in an ambulance. I heard men telling me to listen to them, that they were getting me out, that I was going to be okay. I looked in the front, at my mother. She--”_ Geralt's shaking grew more violent, and Jaskier fetched a glass of water, offering him a break.

As Geralt sipped, Jaskier's heart ached. He knew this story was not going to have a happy ending. He also knew it was Geralt's trauma to share, in his own time. After a few minutes, Geralt took a few deep breaths, and continued.

 _“She was twisted in her seat, facing me. Her face was bruised, swollen. There was no white to her eyes. All the vessels had burst. But she was alive, she was conscious. She, she was whispering to me, and I could hear the blood gurgling in her throat. I love you, she kept saying. It's okay.”_ Tears formed in Geralt's eyes, rolling down his cheeks. Jaskier's own vision swam watery.

_“I didn't want them to take me from her. I heard them peeling the metal back to get me out. I remember screaming and screaming. Her eyes were black, and she kept whispering. I knew. I knew that I was the last person she'd ever speak to. I fucking knew they'd never get that holiday. When I was free, I fought the paramedics, until they sedated me._

_I woke up in hospital. My sister, Triss, was there. I had a broken arm, multiple lacerations, and cracked ribs, but I was okay. She said Dad was in surgery for his spine. Told me that Mum-- when they removed the pressure on her, the shock overwhelmed her body. Triss said she didn't suffer. But I was there. I knew.”_

Jaskier muffled a noise into the sleeve of his robe, his own tears falling.

_“I saw her every time I closed my eyes. Heard her whispers. There's some time I don't remember – Triss says they used a lot of medicines on me. But I withdrew into my mind. I became frightened, of everything, all the time. I turned thirteen in my bedroom, refusing to eat because I was scared I'd choke. The same way my mother had choked on her blood. I remember more medicine – some of it made me very tired. None of it helped me speak again. Not away from Dad or Triss. I could say small things to them. Words, little phrases. In time it built. But in public, I would freeze up._

_We didn't have heaps of money to see good therapists. I went on a lot of waiting lists. My father was crippled by the accident, unable to use his left leg properly. Our house was miserable for a long time. Triss did her best to care for both of us. She felt guilty for not being there. I'm so fucking glad she wasn't there.”_ Geralt roughly wiped at his face.

Picking up a silver box filled with tissues, Jaskier offered him one. He took a couple, blew his nose. Jaskier did the same.

 _“It took a lot of work, but eventually I was able to go outside again. I still won't go in cars. I still hate big crowds. I don't love the tube, but I can take it. That's the thing, Jaskier. I'm never going to be normal. I got my high school degree online. I got the job that I have because I don't have to talk to many people. It was really hard to get a job at all. Nobody wants to hire a mute. If you want to be with me, you have to be with the past that I have, too. And know that I can't be fixed.”_ Geralt finally let his hands drop, exhausted. He stared at his lap, not daring to look at Jaskier.

“I don't want to fix you.” Jaskier whispered, his voice cracking. He ran his fingers lightly down Geralt's arms, taking his hands. “I like you as you are. You're not broken. Not to me.”

Geralt made a noise in the back of his throat, raising his eyes. Jaskier's were sincere, albeit wet-lashed and bloodshot. He flexed his fingers, squeezing Jaskier's hands.

“I can't imagine what you went through. I won't tell you that I am sorry, because I hate it when people say that. But I will tell you that I didn't make a right arse out of myself in the staff kitchen the first day we met for no reason. You intrigued me from the start, because you're handsome and funny and good Lord, have you _seen_ your abs? Sorry, inappropriate,” Even though Geralt was smiling. “And when I found out you communicated with sign language, I just... figured it was part of you. Not something to overcome. What happened to you is terrible, Geralt, but it doesn't define you.” Jaskier winced. “Oh, but I do _ramble,_ does that make sense--”

Clearly it did, because Geralt silenced him with a kiss. Their lips met in something desperate and rough; gratitude and sorrow and lust warring with one another to yield to action, the lick of tongues, the nip and clash of teeth. When they parted, Geralt's eyes were vivid and wild.

 _“Be mine.”_ He signed, hastily. _“I want to call you mine. Can I do that?”_

Eagerly, Jaskier nodded. “Yes,” He agreed breathlessly, “Please, _yes._ If you will be mine.”

And again, Geralt answered with a kiss.


	6. Bathtubs and Beds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier and Geralt share the luxury of the suite. They have to make use of that tub, don't they? But oh -- that means getting naked for the first time. Luckily for Jaskier, it goes rather well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *through a megaphone* THE SMUT'S HERE. IT'S ARRIVED, EVERYONE. HOORAY!

The two spent some time on the couch in the wake of Geralt's confession. It was getting late, they were both emotionally exhausted, and Jaskier had work the next day. Geralt, the lucky bastard, had the day off. As they cuddled in companionable silence, listening to the dulcet tones of the radio, Jaskier let his eyes fall upon the bottle of Moët still standing in its silver bucket. The ice had turned to water hours ago, but a short stint in the fridge would bring the champagne back to a more reasonable temperature.

Jaskier knew that good champagne should never be served completely frigid, anyway. The knowledge made him feel slightly snobby. Briefly, he lingered over all the privilege he had that Geralt did not. He let the guilt churn, and then dismissed it; the feeling would do neither of them any good right now.

“How would you feel about that bath?” Jaskier asked, tilting his head up from where it was leaning against Geralt's shoulder.

“ _Thought you'd never ask_.” Geralt signed, smiling.

Jaskier couldn't help but return the grin. Lord, Geralt was gorgeous when he was happy. His _boyfriend_ was gorgeous when he was happy. Jaskier thrilled privately at the sentence in his mind, and rose from the couch.

“I'll go get it running, then.” Jaskier said, “Would you mind popping the champagne in the fridge and sorting out the glasses?”

Geralt nodded, unfolding from his seated position and stretching his limbs. As the larger man moved about the small bar area, Jaskier padded into the bathroom. The soft lights recessed into the walls turned on.

He fiddled with the taps, getting the water hot, but not scalding. Then he went about sniffing the various salts and bath products that were on standby. The label on all of the toiletries read ' _Acqua Di Parma_ ' and looked very fancy indeed. He made a mental note to shove as many as he could into his bag as a gift for Yen. She'd know the brand, most likely.

One bottle smelled refreshing, like citrus fruits, and he squinted at the scent on the label. ' _Arancia di Capri_ ', it informed him, and although he'd not had cause to speak Italian for awhile, he knew that the fragrance was supposed to emulate the experience of enjoying fresh oranges. He sat at the side of the tub and dumped most of it into the running water. The gel foamed lightly.

It was about then that he realised this was the first time he'd see Geralt naked. It would also be the first time he'd be naked in front of Geralt. His pulse picked up, and he found heat rising to his cheeks, anticipatory. Other parts of him rose, too; he felt his cock begin to fill out in interest.

They were not children. There was no cause to share a bath in boxer-briefs. Certainly not after confessing their desire for one another, and their exclusivity. Jaskier glared at his crotch and willed his erection to submit. He wasn't sure if it was appropriate to have a boner after everything Geralt had just spoken about.

But then the man himself entered the bathroom, carrying two crystal champagne flutes, and Jaskier's traitorous dick only thickened. Geralt was still wearing his robe – as was Jaskier – but he was so delicious, with or without clothing. And honestly, it had been awhile since Jaskier had found relief, save for liaisons with his own hand.

“Hello.” Jaskier attempted cool and collected, and tried not to wince when his voice squeaked. Fuck it all, why was he such a dork? Geralt tilted his head, setting the glasses down, and waved with slight confusion.

“I hope you like oranges.” Jaskier blurted, “Because that's what I chose. To put in the bath. Because, because it's a nice bath, and we deserve bubbles.”

He could not have sounded more like a teenage boy with a crush if he'd tried.

Geralt smiled fondly. “ _Oranges are nice._ ” His gestures were slow, soothing.

“They are, aren't they? This scent is named after a place in Italy called Capri, famous for citrus fruits. They make the most wonderful citrus liquors, there. And citrus everything, really. Citrus gelato, citrus salads--” _Stop saying 'citrus',_ he screamed at himself, “--Um, just. Very fresh.”

Geralt was staring at him. Jaskier's blush deepened. Curse his runaway tongue.

“ _What's wrong, Jask?_ ” Geralt signed.

“Nothing! Nothing,” Jaskier said, quick to reassure, and then realised that honesty was a better route to take, as in most life situations. “Um, it's just... I've never. We've never. Listen, you're _breathtaking_ , and I don't want to ruin anything tonight, but just thinking about you without your robe – I'm already,” He made a vague gesture. “I just don't want you to feel pressured or undervalued because I can't _control my dick_ in your presence, frankly.”

There. That was the crux of it. He ducked his head in shame and fiddled with the tie of his robe. Geralt cleared his throat to get Jaskier's attention, and meekly, he raised his eyes again.

“ _You are out of your mind if you think I won't have the same reaction to you._ ” Geralt assured him. “ _When we got undressed earlier, I definitely stole peeks._ ”

Jaskier giggled. “If we're coming clean, then... so did I.”

Geralt laughed. “ _I really liked what I saw. I don't feel pressured, Jask'. I feel,_ ” His hands paused as he searched for the right sign, “ _Important._ ”

“You are important.” Jaskier whispered.

Those unusual gold-flecked eyes of Geralt's softened, as he stepped forward. He ran one large hand through the chestnut of Jaskier's hair fondly, before he bent down. Their lips met in a shy kiss, warm and questioning, before their mutual desire stoked wanting flames, and then Jaskier found himself moaning into Geralt's mouth as his tongue was sucked and his bottom lip nipped. His hands roamed up, snaring the band that secured Geralt's messy bun, freeing his lovely long hair. Geralt made a low sound as Jaskier's hands wandered south, over the thick fabric of the robe, tracing the small sliver of chest bare to him.

Suddenly all Jaskier wanted to do was hear that sound again. Again, and again – louder, more urgent. His skin pricked all over with lust, and he broke away from Geralt's lips with fond hesitance, fingers at the knot of the robe.

“May I?” He asked, breathless. Geralt nodded.

Eagerly, Jaskier worked the tie free, and pushed the offending material away. He thought to give Geralt a chance to reciprocate, but suddenly there were planes of pale flesh and muscle for him to navigate – a body that had featured in all of his fantasies for weeks now – and he forgot all manner of social propriety. Greedy hands stroked divots of skin as Jaskier leaned forward, pressing open-mouthed kisses in a line down Geralt's disciplined stomach. He heard Geralt's breath catch, and then another low moan.

Jaskier felt drunk with the sound. _More,_ he thought, _again._ Like a man chasing the ghostly vestiges of his sanity, he committed wholly to Geralt's body with fingertips and nipping teeth and kisses of claim.

He felt Geralt shiver, felt that hand in his hair again, stroking, encouraging. Boldly, Jaskier slid fingers down, down, and wrapped firmly around Geralt's cock, squeezing him through the tenting fabric of his boxers. Good God but the man was _hung,_ and so fucking hard, and--

Geralt made a sound like a _whimper._

“Fuck.” Jaskier hissed against the violent slash of Geralt's pelvis, the start of his Adonis' belt, “Fuck, Ger', can I?” With huge eyes, he looked up, hooking thumbs into the elastic of Geralt's underwear.

Geralt nodded his consent enthusiastically, his hazel eyes dark in the low-light of the room.

Jaskier did not waste time. He pulled the fabric down, licking his lips at the sight of Geralt's cock exposed and blood-flushed, beading at the slit already. The whimper came from his own throat, this time. Then he licked a long stripe up the heavy length, curling his tongue at the ridge of Geralt's cockhead and rubbing in friction fuckery.

His reward was the filthiest hiss, a throb, Geralt's hands curling into fists.

He was so turned-on himself that he felt the wetness of his precome seeping into his own restrictive undergarments. Stopping for such a trivial reason was not on his agenda, though. Jaskier opened his wet lips and took Geralt into his mouth, letting himself drool down the impressive cock to better slick the way. Again that moan, the sweetest sound Jaskier had ever heard, and he hurried in his efforts to swallow Geralt to the root.

The two inches he could not take became a future goal, and Jaskier stroked them with clever fingers instead, his other hand cupping Geralt's rapidly tightening balls. He moaned around the girth in his mouth, enjoying the act of service, his cheeks pulling concave as he drew back up Geralt's cock. He repeated the action, and again. Jaskier loved giving head, loved making it messy and loud, and as he flicked his gaze up to gauge Geralt's reaction, he felt effervescent in the other man's expression.

Geralt's lips were parted as he panted, the awe and adoration in his hawkish gaze making Jaskier feel coveted and cherished. Again the larger man huffed a low moan, and signed with frantic hands. Jaskier could barely translate.

“ _Can't last,_ ” Geralt's fingers trembled, “ _Too good. Gonna come, Jask'._ ”

Jaskier growled, bobbing his head once more, before sucking down Geralt's dick as deeply as he could into the hot snugness of his throat. His tongue flicked the pulsing underside as his puffy lips slurped, and Geralt cried out as he came.

Swallowing jealously, Jaskier listened to the sounds of Geralt in the throes of orgasm, committing them to memory. The larger man gasped and whined and made the cutest thrusts of his hips as Jaskier pulled every throb from him, demanding, taking every streak of come he was given. It was the single most erotic experience of Jaskier's life. Reaching between his own legs, he squeezed his weeping dick, pulling it from his boxers.

Geralt pulled back with a slight stumble, hypersensitive and overwhelmed. He fell to his knees – partly because they were weak, and partly because he saw Jaskier's hand on his own cock – and asked with his pleasure-hazy eyes.

Jaskier licked his lips and nodded, breath quick. “I'm not gonna-- fuck, _Geralt_ \--” He keened as he fucked into the fist of the larger man once, twice, and then it was over. Jaskier tensed as a wave of euphoria crested over him, and he came over Geralt's hand and onto the floor with a broken gasp. Geralt stroked him through it, making the sweetest low rumble of a sound, and Jaskier thought that he'd shake apart completely.

When he was spent, he slumped forward slightly to catch his breath, dizzy. Then he watched with half-lidded eyes as Geralt brought his sticky fingers to his mouth and licked them clean. Jaskier's dick twitched again.

“Fucking hell, Geralt.” Jaskier's voice was thick with the act he'd just performed. “You'll be the death of me.”

“ _I should hope not._ ” Geralt signed, a looseness about his gestures. “ _That was fucking amazing._ ”

Jaskier beamed at the praise. “You're fucking amazing. My _boyfriend._ ”

Geralt flushed at the sound of the word, and leaned forward to kiss Jaskier gently. They luxuriated in one another for a moment, content. And then Jaskier remembered they were running a bath, for heaven's sake.

“Shit.” He hissed, and turned his head. Thankfully, the tub was fitted with an overflow drain. Jaskier reached over and turned the taps off. The water level was too high – even with the drain, they'd make a mess if they both got in – and Geralt reached in to pull the plug.

“ _Jaskier!_ ” He signed, after he'd let some of the water out, “ _It's freezing!_ ”

“What?” Jaskier was in the process of disrobing, letting his clothing drop to the floor. He sauntered back, and stuck his hand in. “What do you mean? It's warm!”

“ _You call that warm?_ ” Geralt looked incredulous.

“We're taking a bath, not boiling a chicken!” Jaskier defended.

Geralt snorted, and ran the hot tap. “ _Get in,_ ” He signed, “ _You'll get used to the hot more gradually._ ”

“It's a good thing my tub at home isn't large enough for both of us,” Jaskier said, “As I sense this may be a topic of debate.” But he did as Geralt suggested, cooing at the feeling of the (appropriately warm, in his opinion) water. He sat himself at one end of the bath.

“ _If that's the only kind of contention between us, then we're doing well._ ” Geralt pointed out, smirking.

Jaskier flicked some foam at him. “Bring me my champagne, you bathwater brute.”

Geralt grunted, blew suds back at Jaskier, but did as he was asked. Jaskier enjoyed the view as his boyfriend exited the room, brought back the bottle, and poured their drinks. Geralt caught him staring.

“ _What?_ ” He signed.

“You're hot.” Jaskier said.

Geralt handed him a glass. “ _Takes one to know one._ ”

“Well, I'll drink to that.” Jaskier raised his bubbly.

It was easily the best bath Jaskier had ever taken in his life.

\--------------

Clean, dry, and the tiniest bit tipsy, they tumbled into the bed. Jaskier burrowed beneath the thick duvet, naked and gleeful, sighing at the silky slip of fine sheets against his skin. Geralt followed, curling in behind him. He felt a thick arm around his middle, felt the solidness of Geralt's chest behind him, and couldn't recall a time when things had felt more perfect.

“Can't believe it's three in the morning.” Jaskier said, reaching over to set the alarm on the clock. “I'm gonna be useless at work tomorrow.”

“ _Sorry for keeping you up._ ” Geralt gestured, as Jaskier craned his neck to look.

“Are you mad? I'm not sorry. Not even remotely. I mean, I'm sure I'll be very whiny four hours from now when I have to get up, but I still won't regret anything.” Jaskier kissed Geralt's chin.

Geralt smiled sheepishly. “ _You're right. I'm not really sorry._ ”

“Good.” Jaskier giggled, pressing buttons on the panel so the lights in the suite would turn off, and the blinds would roll closed. “Listen, I have to get up at seven, but check-out isn't until the afternoon. If you'd like a lie-in, take advantage, okay? And you can have a volcano bath, too.”

Geralt nodded. “ _That sounds nice_.” He signed, “ _But I will wake up to kiss you goodbye._ ”

“Damn right you will, babe.” Jaskier said, reaching over to turn off the light. “I refuse to go a day without a kiss from you, now.”

He heard Geralt's soft snort in the darkness. As he felt that arm returning to claim position around him, Jaskier fell asleep faster than he had in years, utterly contented.

\--------------

It was not fair. Jaskier had only been asleep for two minutes, but the blasted alarm was blaring. He moaned tragically, and swatted at it until it stopped. Jaskier blinked at the red LED numbers that cheerfully informed him that it was seven in the morning.

“Work doesn't need me.” He croaked, “Calling in sick on your second week is fine.”

The lamp beside him came on, and Jaskier hissed in offence. Geralt looked as sleepy as he felt, and was also sporting the most adorable bed-hair. Jaskier felt renewed in his desire to cancel work. Hell, he wanted to quit his job and just live in bed with this man beside him forever.

“ _Get up, darling._ ” Geralt signed. “ _Coffee exists, remember?_ ”

Jaskier burrowed his face into his boyfriend's chest, breathing in the sleepy-warm scent of him. “Five more... hours.” He bargained.

Geralt's laughter rumbled through him. Then he felt the covers being pulled back. The chill of morning nipped his naked skin.

“Oooh no no, no-- rude! Gera _aalt,_ come on. Support my poor work ethic!” Jaskier complained, reaching for the duvet.

“ _Up._ ” Geralt motioned, “ _Get up, go shower. I'll order your breakfast with the hotel iPad thingy._ ”

Jaskier made a litany of offended noises, before he rolled over. “Fine!” He agreed, “But you are a varlet, you know that? Evil, gorgeous man. I should have known that true wickedness would be so handsome.”

Geralt grinned. “ _Pancakes?_ ” He asked.

Pausing on his dramatic exile to the bathroom, Jaskier cocked one jaunty hip. “Yes, actually. With extra syrup. Oh, and ice cream. How did you know?”

“ _Caramel coffee._ ” Geralt signed. “ _Incorrigible sweet-tooth._ ”

Jaskier stuck out his tongue, and was assaulted with a thrown pillow in retaliation. He screamed, and scarpered into the adjoining room. Geralt shook his head, and began poking at the iPad.

\--------------

It was a bit of a walk of shame, heading back to the office in yesterday's clothes. He wasn't gross enough to wear his briefs two days in a row, so he was free-balling, and it felt decidedly odd. No one would notice, he suspected. Well, aside from Yen. She noticed everything.

As he crossed the street, he glanced back at the hotel. He hoped Geralt was cuddled warmly back in bed, getting more rest. Or at the least, running a bath. Jaskier had settled the room's account and let them know that his partner – he'd not tire of saying that, he thought – was still in the suite, and would be ordering breakfast. They had been delightful, thanking him for staying, and Jaskier took his receipt without looking at it. If he didn't see the financial damage, it didn't exist.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

- _You look cute._ Geralt had texted.

Safely on the other side of the road, Jaskier squinted up at the hotel again, trying to locate the windows of the suite. His phone went off again.

- _Won't find me, Jask'. The bathroom window is tinted. But your confused face is also cute._

Jaskier grinned stupidly.

- _Don't drop your phone in the bath, you voyeur._ He replied.

And then Geralt sent him a picture; bubbles and wet body hair and just the start of Geralt's pubes before the photo cut off and holy fucking shit, Jaskier squeaked and nearly dropped his own phone.

- _I've no underwear on today, Geralt! I don't want to get arrested!_

- _Oh, apologies. Should I not send any more?_

In the shadow of an alleyway, Jaskier adjusted himself, and continued power-walking to work. He texted.

- _No, no, I'll survive._

A picture of what lay beneath the foam of the bathwater; Geralt's full cock, wet and hard against his stomach. Jaskier's mouth went dry.

- _Never mind, I am absolutely going to have an aneurysm and die._

- _Please don't. I've grown rather fond of you._ Geralt replied.

Swiping his security pass, Jaskier made for the lifts. He got in first, smushing himself into the back so that other staff members would not see his phone. No, that was for his eyes only.

- _Well, alright. But only because you said please. Oh, and Geralt?_

- _Yes?_

- _Remember that turnabout is fair play, won't you? Have a good breakfast. x_

- _I'm scared now. Text you later. x_

\--------------

During their Friday meeting, Yennefer's gaze did not leave Jaskier for one moment. Her perfectly painted lips were quirked in a smirk. Just as he'd suspected, she immediately knew something had changed – and it wasn't his clothes. Lambert and Eskel, thankfully, were entirely oblivious.

“I'm just saying,” Lambert talked with his mouth full of doughnut, “That I am sick to death of Carlson's attitude. We all have to deal with him. Can't we make a joint complaint?”

“And say what?” Eskel asked. “That he's underhanded and snide? Rude, but never in emails or anywhere that would lead a trail to him? Our word against his, and he's one of the company's big players.”

“Eskel is right.” Yen said. “We've both been here long enough to know that you just have to put up with Carlson.”

“But I hate him!” Lambert groused.

“I've only been here a fortnight, and I hate him, too.” Jaskier agreed. “Him and his mean bitch of an assistant.”

“Which one?” Eskel sipped his tea. “Let me guess--”

“Frances.” Yennefer interrupted him. The three members of his team shared a glance.

“Yes, her.” Jaskier arched an eyebrow. “Why, what did she do to you guys?”

“Office gossip.” Lambert supplied. “If it'll amuse her, she'll dig her nasty little claws into you and spread rumours. Doesn't matter how true they are.”

“She once tried to threaten me, actually.” Yen said.

“You never mentioned that.” Eskel bristled. “We would have come to your defence.”

“That's sweet, Eskel,” Yen smiled genuinely, “But I threatened her right back, and she chose the smart route of not earning the full weight of my ire.”

The three men stared at her. Eskel rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Jaskier cleared his throat.

“How did you get her to back off?” He had to ask.

Yennefer shrugged nonchalantly. “I simply dropped a few names. Contacts I have. _Incidents_ that have happened in London. Told her it'd be a shame if similar things happened to her. You know, girl talk.”

Jaskier made a high sound. “Yen, you can't just... casually suggest bodily harm to a colleague to solve your problems!”

She raised her eyebrows at him. “I didn't. I told her that I know the importer for Chanel, and it'd be an awful shame if she wasn't welcome in their store anymore.” Her upper lip curled. “I mean, she favours the label, but _ugh_. She can't put basics together to save her sad little life.”

Jaskier blinked, and then began to laugh. Lambert snorted. Eskel looked besotted.

“Sorry, I just presumed you knew the mafia somehow.” Jaskier said.

“Maybe I do.” Yen's eyes flashed mysteriously. “You don't know me, Boss.”

“You _are_ a continual surprise.” Jaskier agreed, looking at his watch. “Alright, team. We have next week's schedules. We've agreed that for now, we'll watch and wait with Carlson. Trust me, assholes like him always have a weakness. It's usually their own ego. If he says something to you and you have evidence, please come to me. That's why I'm here.”

Eskel and Lambert made noises, agreeing, and began to close their notepads and power off their tablets. Jaskier did the same. Yen capped her fountain pen, but didn't begin packing up.

She was totally going to lay into him, Jaskier could feel it.

“Keep me up to date about that difficult account, Jaskier.” Lambert said, “I don't mind helping with the translation if you get stuck.”

“Thanks, man.” Jaskier clapped his colleague's shoulder. “She uses a lot of Cantonese slang, and I'm just not hip anymore.”

“Like you were ever hip.” Eskel ribbed, following his brother out.

Jaskier feigned indignation for a moment, and then sighed. “Yeah, you're right.”

Lambert poked Eskel in the ribs, and they headed back to their offices, chatting about sports. Jaskier let them become background noise. One day he'd attempt to understand football.

“Is it laundry day, then?” Yen asked, commanding Jaskier's attention. “I thought we'd bought you enough clothes to cycle through.”

Jaskier fidgeted. “Erm. No, it's not. I stayed in a hotel last night.”

“A hotel?” Yennefer leaned forward, intrigued.

“With Geralt.” _Don't bounce in your chair,_ Jaskier told himself.

Yen pillowed her chin between a beautifully manicured thumb and forefinger. “Aaand?”

“And we had a big, long discussion, and we're going out now, like _officially,_ like he's my _boyfriend,_ and I'm so excited and he's so hot, Yen, oh my God he's _so hot_.” Jaskier burst.

Yennefer smirked, enjoying the flood of homosexual glee. “Aw, Boss. You're warming my dead heart. I can forgive the same clothes two days in a row for that.” She pointed at him. “But if you're going around telling people I dressed you, don't let it happen again. My reputation is on the line.”

Jaskier saluted. “Yes, ma'am.”

“Keep a spare suit in your office, just in case. Also, have you thought about concealer? You look tired.” Yen closed her notebook.

“I am tired.” Jaskier said. “We-- there was a lot to say.” And of course, he blushed.

“I'll bet.” Yen's smile turned cheeky. “So, obviously I'm in charge of fashion for the wedding, right?”

Jaskier reached over to playfully shove her shoulder. He picked up his things and stood. But then, at the door, he threw her a glance over his shoulder.

“Of _course_ you are. Duh.”

And Yen cackled joyfully.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! You can follow me on Tumblr - @inber - for drabble and general stupids.
> 
> Please note -- any language that is not English in this fic will be courtesy of Google translate. If there are English mistakes, that's just cause I'm an idiot. The mistakes in other languages are less my fault.


End file.
